


The Halo You're Wearing, It's Not Yours To Keep

by poemwithnorhyme



Category: Mo Dao Zu Shi, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Forced Prostitution, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 13
Words: 54,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poemwithnorhyme/pseuds/poemwithnorhyme
Summary: Xiyao AU - If Meng Yao's mother did not die, and instead remained ill. Prostitute!Meng Yao. In this timeline, the Sunshot Campaign fails.Warnings: This fic will be dark, see warnings, but the more graphic contents will be skippable. There will be plenty of sweetness between the main pairing though, promise!Song Title from "Justice For Saint Mary" by Diablo Swing Orchestra
Relationships: Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén/Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo, Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo/Wēn Ruòhán, Mèng Yáo | Jīn Guāngyáo/Wēn Xù, background Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn - Relationship
Comments: 170
Kudos: 417





	1. May We Call It Fate?

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a rather big fic - it is mostly written and is at 48k so far. I will be posting a couple chapters a week, or as close to weekly as I can manage. I am imagining Meng Yao as the live action version, if the brown eyes weren't a give away, but feel free to imagine these characters via any version you'd like!
> 
> Had help editing from [ The Recorder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRecorder/pseuds/TheRecorder) and [ EdgeOfTheQuill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_the_Quill) (I definitely recommend you check out their awesome fics :D)

Once, he dreamed of a life in the sky. The path of an immortal, paved with discipline and risk. He has a golden core, and has been developing it since he was a child. His mother always told him he'd learn how to use it. That he would be like his father, a man of significance and reputation.

The hope kept him from drowning in rage at his mother's predicament; sold by her family to pay off debts, unable to run because she made the Madam enough money to be worth going after. The assurance that he has a fate beyond all this makes him try hard in spite of the walls closing in around him. He practices on his own, alongside his daily chores. He suffers lecherous looks and comments, all with the knowledge that one day, he would look down from a coral tower. 

And when Meng Yao finally walks up all of those steps, he ends up being kicked back down. 

He bows to the man who pushes him, his _father_ , and tells himself the scream of his muscles prove he will rise above this setup. It's a shield, politeness a weapon to avoid being beaten, or even some impulse immersed deep in his psyche. The same thing that tells him he’s never good enough, will never _be_ good enough when options keep being torn from him.

As he limps away, the wrath that constantly simmers at the bare surface of his skin boils with a vengeance. He returns to his mother a failure, but he vows to try again. To find some other way to become a cultivator to make his mother proud. 

Then his mother gets sick. His leg is still healing, and he cannot leave her.

So he stays, making the singular agreement with the Madam that he never thought he would. 

His body, for the right to live there. If he were to refuse the compromise, his mother and he would be thrown out – and with her illness, he could never hope to make enough money for medicine, shelter, and food. This way, she can heal.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, the Madam seems to see something in him he does not. A potential due to his blood, and his looks. She plans on selling his first true time to the highest bidder, though he has to practice giving pleasure in other ways. And he becomes very good at it. The better he is at it, after all, the faster it's over.

Because he is never given to late night customers, or kept for long, Meng Yao is free to wander during the day and when it becomes late. He does so only after his chores are done, and when he’s sure his mother is fed, comfortable, and asleep. It is on one of his nighttime jaunts that he discovers a bump in the grass. No, not a bump, a _person_.

The individual is in long white and blue robes, soiled by stains - grass-green, and rusted red. Stale blood. They are shaking too, clearly injured and cold. Meng Yao hesitates, knowing full well that most people in the world do not mean kindness to others. If this man is injured, there is a reason for that.

But then the person starts to stir, hands clutching the cold grass, stretching and clawing for purchase. Meng Yao leans closer, and it's then that he notices the ribbon stretched across the man's forehead. A disciple of the Gusu Lan Clan. A very important sect.

Would it not bode well to take care of him?

“You're hurt. Please, don't move. Let me help.”

While Meng Yao is thinking logistics about how to get him up, the man wakes quite suddenly. He pushes at the hands holding him, _very_ harshly. Were it not for the golden core humming in his chest, Meng Yao would have been flung back so far he might have been hurt himself. But he holds true, trying to quell the man.

“I mean you no harm! I am going to take you somewhere to heal. Do not be afraid, please.”

The words feel strange – having to assure someone so clearly capable that he will not hurt them.

The man’s hazy gaze meets his, and he pauses his struggles. He looks Meng Yao up and down, as well as he can, before settling.

“Thank you, I…” clearly wanting to say more but unable. His voice is so very hoarse with disuse and a dire need of water. Meng Yao hums with approval, but otherwise focuses on getting the man back to the house. 

Specifically to his room. If anyone is to gain from assisting such a man, he promises himself that it will be Meng Yao and his mother. Besides, he has training in the care of wounds. It is a necessary skill when one is a helper in a brothel – he was raised knowing how to suture and even treat external as well as some internal bleeds.

Nevertheless, it is a challenge to get the Lan disciple inside without getting caught. But it is late, and it is not as though they have a strong guard around the brothel. What few armed men they do have largely guard the rooms of the most important assets. Meng Yao is not yet one of them – not until his blood reputation gets around more, and if he proves himself beyond that.

The shame of it brings heat to Meng Yao's cheeks. He glances at the man clinging to his shoulder, wondering if helping him might prevent his fate. It is unlikely, but there is no harm in trying. But it is not merely the potential advantage. The man needs help – and the Gusu Lan clan is known for assisting anyone who asks for assistance. Often for free. It is likely he is a good person, one who is hurting. Meng Yao is surrounded by so many who are hurting, all the time. He sees enough suffering.

He manages to get the cultivator inside. He is very thankful for his golden core, or he would not have been able to carry the man's weight this far and this successfully. He deposits the man on his own bed, uncaring to the stains it will cause. After, he obtains water and searches for his medicine kit. He sits on the bed to get a closer look, making sure not to needlessly touch the wounded man. However, he does bring a cup to his lips, entreating him to drink. The other does, though just a little, before the dryness of his own mouth causes him to cough.

“Lan-gongzi,” Meng Yao says, finding that it's the most precise name he can give. The man may not possess the Lan name and merely be a Lan disciple but no matter, “I must remove your clothing to check on your wounds. Will you let me?”

It takes a moment for the other to look up, meeting his eyes long enough that two beats of thick eyelashes eat the time between their stare.

“Who are you?” the man asks first.

“My name is Meng Yao. I am only trying to help.”

“... Meng.. Yao. I am...” then the man seems distressed, not continuing. Rather he closes his eyes and nods, permission given.

Only then does Meng Yao peel back the layers of soiled white and blue. There are a great many wounds on the Lan disciple, but most of them are superficial. Some cuts, bruises, and a great many burns. Relatively simple injuries although numerous. Time spent without rest, food, or water must bear a greater brunt in the lack of healing.

“You will be okay, Lan-gongzi,” he reassures as he administers healing paste onto the wounds. He does not let his eyes linger for long on his bare skin, feeling as though it is a slight against the man's clearly noble disposition. Not that skin itself is sacred, Meng Yao knows better than that, but there is something about him – the square angle of his jaw, the line of his nose. He must be important in the cultivation world. Someone with such a face would never be less than revered. 

He lets his mind ruminate on who the stranger could possibly be while he takes care of him. There are a few well known Lan disciples, including the Twin Jades. This person is surely handsome enough – he has a face sculpted like fine china, and his clothing is both reserved and refined enough. But he could not possibly be a Jade. He would have stated his name, if only to make sure he received excellent treatment. Besides, no one would dare harm Zewu-Jun or Hanguang-Jun. 

~~

“Let me in, Meng Yao!”

“Yi Shun, you are drunk. My mother is sleeping. You need to return to your room, no need to...” the comparatively quiet voice is suddenly silenced by the sound of a body hitting the wall.

Xichen jerks awake to the clamor, very unsure of what is going on while self-preservation kicks in. He sits up, every aching injury pulling at his skin and screaming to be left alone, but he drags himself up anyways. He looks around the strange room, taking in all he can in the quick seconds. He sees another bed, and another person, but they look very much asleep. Then he spots a wooden partition; perhaps a closet. He clamors to the space behind it, edging back against the clothing held within before positioning the partition back in place.

It is just the right timing too, as the fairly flimsy barrier to the room is crested by a tumbling body. Xichen can only see so much through the horizontal tiers of wood, but what he does take in concerns him. A boy being cupped by the chin, lifted and pushed backward to the very bed Xichen was just laying on. The sheets are stained, and the boy is mindful enough to pull another sheet over the evidence, while the pushy one seems to give no care to such traces.

“You would not even look in my direction all night,” the one who must be Yi Shun complains, “Too busy gossiping with customers. You hurt my feelings, A-Meng. How are you going to make up for it?”

From this angle, Xichen can see the smaller boy's profile. His unusually large eyes widen with tempered control, though he looks back and forth as best as he can with the grip holding him tight. Like he's checking for something, and not strictly a reason to escape.

“I can bring you to your room, not here,“ he starts, certainly intending to say more but Yi Shun uses his grip to lift him up enough that he's on his knees. His fingers edge up from his chin to his cheeks, digging in so only sounds of protest can leave his mouth.

“She won’t wake up, we both know that. Here is fine.”

Xichen tries to make sense of what is going on. He scarcely remembers getting here, wherever this is, except... He abruptly recalls big brown eyes, staring at him with hope and concern. The same eyes this boy has, the one being held down while the drunken one reaches for his own robe.

He realizes what he's about to witness after a beat, and he will not stand for it. Weakened or not, Xichen still has a few tricks up his sleeve. He flicks two fingers together, a charge of blue light vibrating alive. Ignoring a subsequent wave of nausea, he aims between the small planks of wood, pausing only because he worries Yi Shun will know where the attack came from. 

He rethinks his strategy, gaze settling on the woman laying nearby. The boy’s mother, he had said… 

Xichen lifts a penitent gaze to the heavens, hoping that Yi Shun has more ethics than he's showing for this to work. He aims a low-grade bolt of harmless energy at the sleeping form. She stirs with an annoyed groan, waking slowly but surely. 

The sound takes the bully by surprise. He stops long enough for the boy who helped Xichen to slam his elbows upwards. The move disengages the arm holding him down, and he stands and pushes back before Yi Shun has a chance to resist.

“She’s awake now, enough! Get out, get _out_!”

“She’s awake?” Yi Shun asks rather dumbly, staring at the ruffled form of the formerly sleeping woman, “Then come with me.”

“No, I must take care of her. Tomorrow, tomorrow,” the boy says absently, clearly elated by the excuse that seems to be working. Yi Shun is reticent to leave, but he lets himself be ushered him out. The boy takes a moment to close an additional panel over the thin sheet that acts as a door. He latches it before turning, eyes a bit wild as he looks toward his mother and then the closet.

“You can come out,” the boy says slowly.

The woman mumbles, asking what is going on, but she is clearly too weak to move or cause much of a fuss. She is also facing away from the closet, and makes no attempt to turn. As Xichen emerges from his hiding spot, the boy goes to her side. He puts a calming hand on her shoulder with an expression that says he will explain later.

“Thank you,” is the first thing the boy says, arms reaching out to form a circle with a deep bow.

A sensation of utter discontent rises in Xichen, and he reaches out in spite of the abrupt gesture pulling at the stitches and gauze on his body. His fingers touch the boy’s vibrantly colored sleeve. With the touch, he can tell the material is not good quality in spite of its flashy hue.

“Do not thank me. You saved me, didn’t you?”

The boy smiles at that, the simple and sincere line of his lips accented by brilliant dimples, “Yes. You do not remember, do you?”

“Not very well,” Xichen admits as he lowers his hand. He finds himself staring at the dimples, blinking.

The other offers another smile and a shake of his head, “You _were_ very out of it. My name is Meng Yao. My mother over there is Meng Shi. And you are Zewu-Jun, aren’t you?”

Xichen does not quite expect that; when on the run he removed his hair ornament to avoid being recognized by stature. But his ribbon he could not bring himself to remove – though it does not point him out as one of the Twin Jades, it does indicate his Clan. It was an ill-advised risk.

Meng Yao bows his head just somewhat, “News of your escape has reached the cities. There is a reward for your capture.”

Xichen’s fingers curl into tight fists. Maybe he should be worried, but looking into those eyes, apprehension about being turned in is a scarce flutter. For one, even in his condition, he could overpower Meng Yao. But most of all, he simply feels no threat in those dark eyes.

“You can heal here,” Meng Yao continues, as though there were not even a question as to the next steps, “I will get you out of the city safely when you’re ready.”

Xichen tilts his head, wanting to be convinced but knowing his luck would be almost too good for that to be true, “I do appreciate your help but…”

He does not say the rest, for it’s clear Meng Yao knows what he means by the way his eyes flick down, “Ah, why? Many reasons. Let me explain, but first let me attend to your wounds.”

He gestures towards his bed, gathering up a medicine kit near by. He sees no reason not to do as he’s being asked, considering Meng Yao has already treated him well before. When Xichen settles on the bed, he quickly realizes how exhausted he is. There is fatigue in his very bones, stomach a gnawing cavern that he longs to both fill and keep void. He is afraid that were he to fill it, it might empty anyways. 

He closes his eyes for a moment, flashes of _why_ he's here sinking in. His Uncle, blood dribbling down his chin as he tells Xichen to run and take their books with him. The books still tucked in every available pocket of cultivation energy he has to spare. 

Uncle telling him that as long as he lives, so does the Gusu Lan Clan – because Qingheng-Jun, his father, will surely not survive the annihilation of the Cloud Recesses. He is weak from seclusion and frail from hardship. Then there is the violent flare of fear for his brother, still on his journey with a target on his back. 

Xichen must stay away long enough to muster his strength and find the remainder of his Clan. Until then, he truly is in need of a place to hide and rest. He is being offered one, and it feels too good to be true.

When he opens his eyes, Meng Yao is seemingly waiting for Xichen to be ready. The boy hums, the sound low and unassuming, “Your bandages may need to be changed. But after, I can bring you something to eat?”

The framing of the offer as a question soothes Xichen somehow. He nods, lips pursed as he waits for Meng Yao to start. The boy reaches for the first layer of his robes, then the second. Xichen holds in a breath, looking down at the bandages peeking out of his robes. Meng Yao will need to remove them to apply more ointment.

“Do you know where you are?” Meng Yao asks, nonchalant as he pinches his finger around a corner of the wrap, slowly pulling back. 

“No,” Xichen answers honestly.

“You are in Yunping City,” Meng Yao replies. Xichen huffs at that. He recalls using his sword to get as far away as he could, but he'd been burned and hurt on his way out of the Cloud Recesses. He made it farther than he thought he would. 

“So close to the Nightless City....” he winces as Meng Yao applies a stinging ointment to a burn on his arm, “And so far from the Unclean Realm.”

He says it mostly to himself, but Meng Yao's eyes flicker. He seems to consider before he tells Xichen more, “There are rumors of Lan disciples gathering near Lotus Pier. You may want to go there first.”

Xichen takes those words under advisement and yet, “You said you would explain why you're doing this. Do you not want the reward for my head?”

Bluntness is usually his brother's territory, but this situation calls for it. His Uncle was so certain that the Wen Clan would want the Sect Leader dead... Was his father indeed smothered by smoke and debris? Or given a cleaner death? His uncle? He dares to hope they are both alive, but it feels more likely that they have borne the Wen Clan's wrath in Xichen's place.

“I would rather not be responsible for your death. And I would never even see that reward money,” Meng Yao responds with certainty, daintily dabbing more ointment on another wound before bandaging it back up. “

“Even if I tried to keep it quiet, this city is small. Rumors take but a few hours to pass through the tea houses and into the streets. My madam would find out I turned you in, and I wouldn't be able to get my mother out of here quickly enough. Madam would say I owe her. And she wouldn't be wrong.”

Meng Yao does not pause his ministrations, but he and Xichen meet eyes as he processes the words. Madam. It can only mean one thing. The fact that the bully that had been in here minutes before thought he had the right to Meng Yao suddenly makes sense. 

“I see,” Xichen says, voice blank of judgment. It's not in him to think ill of someone for their circumstances. If it is how one must survive, then that is for them to decide. But he does not think it is what Meng Yao wants, and it is _that_ which brings Xichen concern.

There's an almost unnoticeable twitch in Meng Yao's otherwise smooth countenance, and Xichen cannot tell if he is hurt or not. Something roils awake in Xichen, and he is driven by the need to smooth that disturbance. 

“What you do here is none of my business. At least, beyond the fact that no one should be forced into such a situation.”

Meng Yao laughs at that. Xichen is struck with the wrongness of it – a laugh should not be so dismissive, particularly when the boy's tone seems made to be warm, not cold. 

“I would not have thought Sect leaders to be so naive,” Meng Yao says with a risen brow. 

It is a casual comment, that Xichen is a Sect Leader – and he has indeed been acting Sect Leader for years, so it is not strange that a civilian thinks him official. But the reminder is harsh, and the fall of his features telling. Meng Yao must not know why but at the very least, he realizes he said something rather inflammatory. Still, he does not look contrite as much as he does resigned.

“But you're right. No one should be forced into such a situation,” he agrees, gaze looking past Xichen, Towards his mother, who Xichen has nearly forgotten is in the room. From the breathy rhythm in the background, she must have fallen back to sleep.

Xichen's expression softens, “I think I understand. Your mother...?”

Meng Yao nods, still not looking at him even as his fingers flutter, driven by efficient instinct alone, “She's sick. Wasn't always this way, but even before that, her life was given to this place by her father. When I was born, she tried to keep me out of it. Almost succeeded too.”

Xichen can tie together what isn't explicitly stated. If Meng Shi is sick now, and it wasn't always that way, then Meng Yao's role in this establishment has changed with it. With her illness, her debt would have shifted to Meng Yao. And it is clear he would accept any burden for the sake of his mother.

Xichen's heart aches – obligation to one's family is innate to his comprehension of the world so he understands.

“I am sorry, Meng Yao,” Xichen says. It is the first time he has said the boy's name, and the very weight of it on his tongue feels poignant. The eyes that meet his share that depth, a hope-filled waver in them that Xichen finds so very compelling. 

If there was a part of him that thought Meng Yao was lying, that he was just waiting for Xichen to become complacent before turning him in, it vanishes in a wisp of pure faith.

“Thank you,” Meng Yao says after a few stagnant seconds. It seems obvious that Meng Yao is a bit thrown off, perhaps not expecting empathy. He blinks, focusing back on Xichen's wounds. He doesn't say anything for a little while, and Xichen doesn't either.

When he does speak again, it seems to suit the comparatively comfortable quiet, “There. Do you think you can eat?”

Xichen gives a hesitant nod, “I can try.”

Meng Yao returns with a bowl of rice and soup; a perfect reintroduction for Xichen's stomach. He manages to keep the food down, a miracle in itself. Afterward, he is ushered to sleep. Before he drifts off, he watches Meng Yao and his mother. 

He is unsure if the boy knows that Xichen is not yet unconscious, but it doesn't seem to change his behavior. He wipes sweat off her brow, hand-feeds her another bowl of the same soup he brought to Xichen. After, he tells her that he's hiding the illustrious Zewu-Jun - “Mother, guess what? We have an important guest, but you can't tell anyone. One of the Twin Jades! Yes, yes, he's as beautiful as they say.”

The amusement in his voice stirs something in Xichen, something delightfully abashed. He feels quite certain then that Meng Yao knows he's listening, and that the boy's intentions are genuinely in the right place. After all, who could be admonished for wanting the best for their mother? For knowing that Zewu-Jun is a man of morals, and that surely, after witnessing this pair, he will be driven to return the favor? That is, if he survives the coming war – his uncle was right long ago, and the war has started with the destruction of his home.

In part because of Meng Yao’s efforts, he will recover quickly enough to join the fight. That is, if Meng Yao can keep him hidden.

There are a few close calls in the coming days. Meng Yao's room is as private as a brothel space can be, but there is plenty of risk. Yi Shun from earlier tries to get into the room again the very next night, but Meng Yao manages to get him back to his own quarters. The time it takes for him to return, and the red-rim of his eyes and mouth, tells Xichen of the cost. Not that Xichen's presence changes the course of such a night for Meng Yao; the truth of it not making reality sting any less.

Although Meng Yao seems satisfied to ignore him after such a scene, Xichen speaks enough for the both of them. At first, he tells him about Gusu. The stories naturally glide into tales of his brother – of Lan Wangji's perceived coldness, when in reality he is as multi-faceted as the stone their colloquial title is derived from. After all, green is not the only color of jade. 

Then he speaks of his close friend, Nie Mingjue and the real reason he’s called Chifeng-zun. The public tale is exciting, but the personal is more rewarding in Xichen’s opinion - “Baxia is not actually scarlet, so you would assume it's the blood he's spilled. Not quite...”

Meng Yao listens, rapt and open. He asks but a few questions, and each spirals into a new tale. By the end Xichen is laughing. Unfortunately, such laughter leads to the awareness that it could be lost forever. He fears that his Uncle and brother are both dead. His father has been wasting away for years and that does, unfortunately, make his potential loss hurt a bit less. 

Meng Yao is troubled by the sudden turn, and does what he can to comfort Xichen. At first it's just the assurance of words - “From your own tales, your Uncle is strong, and your brother steadfast. They will make it, and you will get back to them. I, no... Meng Yao promises to do what little I can to make sure you get the chance to see them again.”

Then, just the next day Meng Yao brings tangible news. Lan Qiren is alive, though barely. Same with Qingheng-Jun, at least for now - his state is far more precarious and Xichen is prepared for the worst. Lan Wangji too, though he is in the possession of the Wen Clan. There is also a call for all the heirs and main disciples of the major Sects to report to Qishan. Meng Yao doesn't say they are hostages – he needn't speak the words for that to be obvious. Xichen is all the more driven to get back out there, and he is so very close.

He spends his days resting and eating the food Meng Yao brings him. He also speaks with Meng Shi, the few times she is awake. She lives life from dream to dream, kept docile and painless with poppy and other mixtures. Xichen knows enough about herbal medicine to know that the mixture staves off more aggressive illnesses, and that they are rare to obtain. Meng Yao's enormous debt leaves little to the imagination.

Due to the medication, Meng Shi is cognizant only half of the time, but when she is aware she is startlingly perceptive. The first moment that Xichen witnesses is her turning to him and asking him what he lost. The question takes him so aback that he admits the truth; that he lost his home. His security. His peace. 

She nods, processing before stating, “We all lose things but home can be rebuilt if you're fortunate enough.”

Xichen knows full well what she means when he sees Meng Shi's face glow the moment Meng Yao returns to the room. It is odd, to see this space as a safe haven, whilst out there Meng Yao faces untold trespasses. Xichen does not ask about it, but he cannot help but _see_. The smudged makeup on Meng Yao's face, his swollen lips, the bruises that are only visible when Meng Yao is in his lightest sleeping clothes. However, as much as it shames him, Xichen does note that he never returns limping. His gait remains steady, but for wobbly knees on occasion. 

Xichen doesn't quite connect why until one day he hears that bully Yi Shun again; another occasion where he has followed Meng Yao to his room. He found out days ago that Yi Shun is the Madam's son, able to go where he pleases, and do as he wishes within a wide breadth of limits.

“You think you're so special. So much better than me. But you won't be able to strut around here for much longer!”

Xichen hears Meng Yao's voice clear as the moon outside, even from his hideaway amidst bright-colored clothes, “Your promises get no more potent the more you fling them in my face.”

A slam, either Yi Shun's fist in the wall, or, more likely, Meng Yao himself.

“Don't you ever get sick of acting high and mighty? We're both sons of whores, and your supposed father didn't want you. Maybe if your mother hadn't talked up your Jin blood, you would have had a way to leave. But now you just get to wait to go to the highest bidder – to the person who hates your father most. And you know there's plenty to choose from. What do you think awaits you?”

Meng Yao is uncharacteristically silent at that, which only seems to goad Yi Shun more. 

“When you're just like the rest of us, I'm going to be able to wipe that smile off your face, A-Meng.”

The promise sinks into Xichen's spine like it's a personal slight. He is abruptly aware of how invested he is – it's only been over a week, and Xichen knows that even without the debt he owes, he would return here to shield Meng Yao and his mother against further violation.

He cannot be sure how Meng Yao manages it, but Yi Shun leaves. As soon as Meng Yao makes it into his room, he flattens himself against the wall, breathing hard. It's all Xichen can hear at first – the raucous in and out of air. Xichen pushes his way out of the closeted partition that has become his frequent hiding spot and to the boy so quickly he surprises even himself. 

Once he stands in front of him, he is not so certain. He reaches out, fingers reluctant, suddenly sure that Meng Yao would want nothing less than being touched. 

“Meng Yao, I am so sorry,” he soothes instead, tone soft. Meng Yao shakes his head, still not looking at him. But his mouth opens, and Xichen knows just the sort of dismissal he will give, so he doesn’t let him.

“No, let me rephrase. I am sorry people can be cruel. I am sorry I am not in a position to take you out of this here and now. But... Lan Xichen will. I will come back for you, and take you and your mother away from this. And anyone else here who wants a different life. The world can be cold, but as long as my Sect survives this war, I will open Gusu in ways it never has been before.”

He means it too. The Cloud Recesses will remain an isolated center of learning, but the surrounding territory could stand to have more open borders and policies than it does now. Xichen draws in a breath and holds it, ducking his head in a gesture that begs for Meng Yao to return his gaze. Gratefully, he does. He holds those magnificent eyes in his, treasuring them even red-rimmed and glazed with unshed pain.

“Do you believe me?” Xichen asks, far weightier than four simple words. 

When Meng Yao opens his mouth to respond, a ragged gasp leaks out instead. Gone is the composure Xichen is so very used to. The gloss over his eyes turns to sharp contrast as the dropped mask trails down his cheeks in a tiny river. His lips purse into a smile, one Meng Yao hasn’t given before. It highlights his dimples and makes Xichen’s fingers twitch with an itch he doesn’t fully understand.

Meng Yao nods, once, twice, so many times that he’s shaking with it. He nudges his shoulder into Xichen’s waiting hand. It’s natural to then fold Meng Yao to his chest. The other does not wrap his arms in return, perhaps because he’s surely mindful of the still healing burns on his back and upper arms, but he does tuck his face into Xichen’s shoulder.

It feels right, holding Meng Yao like this, even as he’s crying. Xichen finds tears pricking his own eyes, and he doesn’t hesitate to let them fall; even if they do find their way to Meng Yao's hair. They stand like this for a while, until Meng Shi ushers them over. 

They spend the night talking of their families, both the good and the bad. Xichen does not push for Meng Yao to explain what Yi Shun meant by ‘Jin Blood’, but he learns nonetheless. If merely because Meng Shi still waxes poetic about Jin Guangshan, and knowing the man as he does, Xichen doesn’t have the heart to correct her.

But Meng Yao knows. After his mother falls into her usual deep sleep, he tells Xichen that he went to Jin Guangshan. 

“He barely even remembers my mother. And he certainly doesn't care about me. I thought he just needed something to confirm the truth. I showed him the necklace he left my mother. He laughed, said he gave such worthless trinkets to many women, and kicked me down the stairs when I wouldn't leave right away.”

He hisses through gritted teeth, “Do you know how many stairs are at Carp Tower?”

“I do,” Xichen answers, solemn. The image in his head of how far Meng Yao must have fallen, how much it would have hurt, both body and his mind, hooks deep in Xichen's conscience. He knows Jin Guangshan is a qualmless man, but to be so vicious to his own son – power has poisoned his soul.

“I didn't tell my mother,” Meng Yao continues, “I couldn't hurt her like that. So I lied to her. Told her I stayed two weeks in Carp Tower and the guards wouldn't let me close, no matter how hard I tried. Two weeks, and all I was doing was licking my wounds and wandering like a coward.”

Each word is saturated in simultaneous devastation and ire. Meng Yao seems almost made of it; a vibrating mass of curbed potential and wasted opportunities. As much as Xichen acknowledges the loss for Meng Yao, he does not see the rejection as a failure. The consequences of Jin Guangshan’s negligence are the real failure. And again, Xichen wants so very much to whisk Meng Yao and his mother away from here. 

Since he cannot do that yet, he commits to what little he can.

“You're not a coward, Meng Yao,” he assures first and foremost. He makes the other look him right in the eye as he repeats himself. Meng Yao doesn't even hide the shudder of relief that pours over him – nor does he hide the absolute fatigue that drags his back down after. He's so very tired.

Every night so far, Meng Yao has insisted that Xichen take his bed. He sleeps on a soft padding of blankets next to his mother instead. But tonight, Xichen refuses to let him compromise. 

With a boldness Xichen didn't think himself capable of, he carefully slides into the bed and lifts one side of the blanket up. He stares with purpose until Meng Yao starts to laugh. Xichen returns the nervous titter before silencing his own nerves with a resolute huff and a tilt of his chin. 

“Please,” he asks, more for himself than for Meng Yao, but then he quickly amends it, “Only if you want to, of course. It is not my intention to-“

“It’s fine,” Meng Yao interrupts with a warm smile. However, despite the reassurance there’s trepidation in his walk. A scowl tugs at Xichen's lips. He doesn’t want to make Meng Yao uncomfortable, and yet the urge to sleep next to him feels as right as going to his side when he was crying. So he can guard him in rest, that which he cannot do during the day.

“Really, it's fine,” Meng Yao says again. He reaches out to touch the sheets on the bed, fingers curling, “I just...”

In Xichen's admittedly limited experience with Meng Yao, it is rare for him to speak without already knowing what he's going to say. So breaks in his words seldom occur. This means he's taken aback, or perhaps upset. 

“If it will not hurt you, and you do not feel pressured, we will only sleep. Nothing more,” the honesty in Xichen's voice causes his lilt to waver embarrassingly.

Meng Yao does not look up, but his hands start to shake, “Zewu-Jun, you know what I do. You are a Lan, and I am not clean, and I-”

Xichen doesn't let such thoughts continue. He reaches out, folding his hand gently over Meng Yao's shaking one, “Do not. You are not unclean. Would you say such of your mother? Of any one else in your position? I know you mean it because I am a Lan, but I know my own rules. There is nothing against chaste reprieve. So if you will have me, I want only to hold you while you dream.”

Strictly speaking, there are some rules against sleeping in the same bed with your betrothed, but the situation matters. And Meng Yao is not his betrothed. There are also rules against prostitution, but this is not a transaction. This is permissible. More than that – this is something Xichen wants. He is so certain that if Meng Yao does refuse, there will be a part of him that will struggle to recover.

Meng Yao looks at Xichen then, mouth parted in questions he doesn't let leak. Instead, he swallows them with a smile – one that is so bright his dimples look all the more precious. Xichen drops the blanket he's holding to stare, like his brain can only handle so much activity. It's not merely the smile that settles something meltingly heavy over Xichen's heart – it's the radiance of his eyes. The hope in them, the trust.

“I am glad you're considering,” Xichen says in lieu of just grinning stupidly. 

Meng Yao's smile only gets more intense, and he doesn't look away even as he gets into the bed. He immediately rolls onto his back, looking up at Xichen. That is his cue to lower down as well, so he is not lording over Meng Yao. He does not want to think about what looking down at those big eyes and the steady smile would do to his churning gut. 

He focuses on getting the blanket over the both of them, then they both settle so they're on their sides. Xichen throws an arm over Meng Yao, having fully meant what he said. He wants to hold him, nothing more, nothing less. At first, Meng Yao is tight with coiled tension; it cannot be comfortable.

“Meng Yao,” he says with kind admonishment. The boy seems to know what he's talking about and he forcefully relaxes.

“You're not doing this because you think you have to?” Meng Yao asks suddenly.

Xichen blinks, going tense himself before he lets that leech out, “No. I want to. Very much.”

That seems to be all Meng Yao needs to hear. He finally lets out a long breath, and eases into Xichen's embrace. The difference is astounding, the way Meng Yao's smaller body fits into his. His soft hair just below Xichen's chin, the smell of him floral and tinged with the heat of incense. In a fit of solace, Xichen goes entirely lax but for where his arm tucks near Meng Yao's stomach. 

They both fall asleep after a little while. At one point, Xichen wakes up to find his hand in Meng Yao's. He's not sure which of them sleepily let it happen, but he does nothing more than grip tighter.


	2. Wen Ruohan's Banquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The consequences of the failed Sunshot Campaign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the angst, it starts~
> 
> Beta'd by [ The Recorder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRecorder/pseuds/TheRecorder) and [ EdgeOfTheQuill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_the_Quill) (I definitely recommend you check out their awesome fics :D)

Xichen is spirited away from Yunping City days later, concealed in layers of clothing that he guesses must be Meng Shi's – they are of a similar build, though Xichen is obviously taller and broader. But the fit need not be perfect to suit their needs. When he departs from Meng Yao, he repeats his promise. 

But he never does make it back. Instead, the Sunshot Campaign ends in abject failure. They launch their attack only to be trapped in a corner. Fierce corpses on all sides, Nie Mingjue captured. Wei Wuxian very nearly wins them the day with his ferocious cultivation techniques, the tides turning so abruptly that terrible hope blossoms in their hearts only to wilt in seconds. 

They all watch as Wei Wuxian is held by the throat, stilted laughter peeling from his open mouth. Xichen feels certain he has a plan, at least the bare bones of one, but his brother uncharacteristically lets his emotions get the best of him. He flies up to help, and Wen Ruohan is not alone. When Wen Xu stabs him through the back, Wei Wuxian's laughter turns to a scream. He loses the upper hand, and Wen Ruohan uses his brute strength to silence him. 

And thus the Sects are brought to heel by the Sun. They are told repeatedly that they strived too high against their betters. 

Wen Ruohan keeps the Sect Leaders in Qishan, caged in haplessly ornate rooms guarded by cultivation blocking seals, loyal guards, and even corpses incapable of being killed by normal means. Even if their heads are chopped off, they keep coming. Such is the efficiency of the combined Yin Metal and Stygian Tiger Seal.

It is a terrible wonder that all Sect leaders are kept alive, if only to be toyed with. Nie Mingjue's saber is tethered to impotency by Nie Huaisang's screams, the boy tortured as a reminder to Nie Mingjue to toe the line. To let the so-called Wen-dogs do as they wish. 

Jin Guangshan is stripped of his wealth and the protection of his tower. His heir apparent collared and forced to kneel while his sword is stolen by Wen Xu for the most minor of offenses against whoever he sees fit – even, sometimes, his own people. A reminder to the Jin Clan that all they once had has been rendered Wen domain.

For days, Xichen is not sure if Lan Wangji survived the hole in his back. He is both grateful and horrified when his brother is finally brought to him, chains adorned with the very jade that derives their shared name. A bejeweled pawn. 

Wei Wuxian is drugged and complacent under the duress of threats against his brother and sister. Forced to experiment for Wen Ruohan, lest he watch the man rend his family to further pieces. At the very least Jiang Yanli is not kept in the city, but allowed to live in the Lotus Pier supervisory office.

Each Sect Leader has their unique torment, but Wen Ruohan has his favorite games. Jiang Cheng is teased with his insignificance, and punished for the murder of Wen Chao. Wen Zhuliu is a constant ghost over Jiang Cheng, threatening removal of his newly reformed golden core while Wei Wuxian begs, glassy-eyed and furious in spite of his sincere pleas. 

Xichen, too, is a preference of Wen Ruohan. He seems to like his pretty face, as he says quite often – that it is an “honor to have the most beautiful cultivator under his heel”, all while he traces fingers over scars he inflicted on dirty skin. The first time Wen Ruohan cut him, it is to bring Nie Mingjue to his knees; the fact that Chifeng-zun could not stand to watch Xichen’s pain an epiphany of brotherhood that Xichen will never forget.

Now, the lash is a favorite of Wen Ruohan's, and subsequently his son Wen Xu. Recently, Sect Leader Wen has started wondering out loud what would happen if he tore Xichen's face, but so far he has refrained from sating that curiosity. 

It has been over three weeks since the Sects were subdued. Every so-called rebel behind Wen walls has been isolated, except when Wen Ruohan sees fit to bring them out to menace. Only then do they get to see their family – their allies. The first collective time they see one another is when Wen Ruohan holds a celebration to mark the official establishment of his new regime. 

His prisoners are of course compelled to attend, brought out in iron and silver. They are leashed to tables dotted with alcohol and food, permitted to eat and drink at their leisure though it all surely tastes like dust in their mouths. Extravagance with a sharp limit. 

The Sect Leaders are in full view of one another, but too far to do anything about the opportunity. The only exception is the intentional lack of space between the siblings in each clan. Wen Rouhan doesn't fear them speaking to one another – they are too efficiently being played against one another. 

Due to such meticulous planning, Jiang Cheng is up front, two arm's length away from Wei Wuxian. For once, the demonic cultivator is rather... aware. Usually, he is on so many drugs he's either despondent or in a rage so thick there's mindless panic in his red eyes. Wen Ruohan likes him best in the latter, since he can trick him to clash with Wen soldiers, the returned Xue Yang, or himself. 

But right now, Wei Wuxian is virtually lounging as he once did before this disaster. A collar adorns his neck, face ashen from exhaustion, but he still sits with one knee up. Still himself in spite of it all. 

Xichen is closest from there to Jiang Cheng, though still too far to whisper without being heard. Lan Wangji on his other side. Nie Mingjue and his half-brother far across the room, but within blessed eyesight. Xichen is pitifully thankful to see him; though the man looks worse than the last he saw him. So does Nie Huaisang, the boy's face a mottled puzzle of putrid yellow and purple. He supposes that Wen Ruohan's recent needling about Nie Mingjue and his damaged saber may be more accurate than he was hoping.

The Jin Clan is the farthest away; the placement deliberate. They are the least Wen Ruohan has to worry about. Jin Guangshan is not much of a fighter, and Jin Zixuan was made an example of by Xue Yang the first time he resisted a command. One cannot talk back without a tongue.

The rest of the crowd is Wen Clan disciples and allies. Xue Yang is at his place near Wen Xu and Wen Zhuliu. He has his gift from Wen Ruohan with him – the bright moon and gentle breeze, Xiao Xingchen. Blindfolded, manacled with core-sapping metal. Xue Yang overtly speaks of taming him, but taking it slow and sweet. To think that such a benevolent rogue cultivator was brought into this mess as well…

The surrounding entertainment is elaborate, of course. Fire breathers, energy manipulators, and flesh peddlers. The latter, presented in the middle of the celebrations, starts with a long progression of people lining up side by side for the picking. Men, women, as well as the unexpected, all trussed up in clothing intended merely to be peeled away.

A woman standing just in front of the long line of people begins to speak, her voice soft but hardy in a way only those who have survived great trials can be, “Glorious Sect Leader Wen, at the request of your son, I have brought you gifts from every territory. The finest to be had.”

“The finest?” Wen Ruohan questions, unimpressed but still intrigued if his wandering gaze is anything to go by. Wen Xu, standing just by the stairs on his left, is otherwise grinning and hungry. Xichen hazards a guess that this idea is not to please his father more than his own lusts. 

“There are a few unique stories here, yours to enjoy. A daughter of the famed pirate Ching Shih. A rogue cultivator. A son of Jin,” the woman says, continuing to highlight certain assets of the group but Xichen's mind vaults to a halt.

A son of Jin?

He looks up, blinking past the blur of misery to really concentrate on the people waiting to be chosen. Disillusionment tears at his ability to see clearly and even then he scarcely believes it. The recognizable features of a boy he once knew seem too far from reality. 

But no, with a third glance there is Meng Yao. He's as beautiful as he remembers – more so, considering all of the blood and defeat Xichen has experienced since their last meeting. Thick hair half-braided in a bun, the rest falling down the length of his back. Large brown eyes made even more doe-like with a layer of kohl, lips a dark plum.

Xichen's breath hitches so overtly that his brother notices even if he's a few feet away. He is sure Lan Wangji connects the only available dots too, seeing as Xichen has no other connection to prostitutes but one. 

His brother is fully aware how Xichen found safety in a brothel after the Cloud Recesses burned. That he was housed by a bright-eyed boy until he was ensconced away, hidden in the very flourish if clothing worn by those currently intended to be gifts for their conquerors. Lan Wangji also knows that Xichen fully intended on returning to retrieve Meng Yao and his mother.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. Xichen stares, utterly frozen. In a miraculously stolen moment, Meng Yao returns his gaze. There is so very much to be found in that wash of brown. Concern, something fleetingly like pity, fear, and a trace of joy. It's overwhelming, and Xichen looks away – ashamed.

Instead, he glances toward Jin Guangshan, not sure what he expects to see. It is not like the man's exploits with women are any secret. It is not actually unique for a prostitute to have his blood, not in the least. But for it to be a male prostitute, perhaps, is a personal affront. And judging from the venom in his expression, he may think precisely that. Or he recognizes Meng Yao and is filled with distaste.

Wen Ruohan seems uninterested in the fact that there is a Jin among the choices; of which Xichen is grateful. He is already captivated by one, holding up a hand to interrupt the woman's speech.

“You're quite an interesting one,” Wen Ruohan says, motioning with a finger towards a woman with claw-marked scars on her face. She happens to be standing next to Meng Yao, although Wen Ruohan pays him no mind. 

“Come closer,” he orders. It is then that Xichen's heart drops into his sour stomach, for Wen Ruohan's eyes flicker to Meng Yao. And all because the woman visibly squeezes his hand instead of adhering to the demand right away. It is not that she is refusing though, for she steps forward within the same second of receiving a squeeze in return – as though Meng Yao is giving her strength. 

It should be nothing; just a coincidence, a display of friendship. But Wen Ruohan seems amused. Xichen finds himself whispering, “No,” ignoring the weighty stare of his brother.

He swallows the word with gratitude when Wen Ruohan refocuses on the scarred woman who has stepped up to his throne. He reaches out, stroking the lines on her face with a wistful smile. Judging from the dreamy look, perhaps he is getting inspiration. He does have a great many prisoners with notably pretty faces – a fact he comments on with relish.

“How did you get these?” Wen Ruohan asks.

The woman coyly tilts her chin, “That is a tale meant for a moment longer than this. Ask me tomorrow.”

It is clearly a gambit. She will say ask me tomorrow even the next day, leading Wen Ruohan on. But that is what the Wens are looking for. _Fun_. 

Wen Ruohan smiles, clearly taken by curiosity. He nods, inviting her to sit on his lap. She says her name – SiSi – loud enough for all of them to hear. Wen Ruohan then looks out at the rest, leaning in to speak with her. He seems to be asking her opinion, and she points out a few. He considers. Then, once more, Xichen's breath escapes him in a throttling jolt. Wen Ruohan is pointing at Meng Yao, the terrible amusement from before returning to his face.

SiSi purses her lips carefully, shaking her head with schooled features. If merely because Xichen is straining to hear, his cultivation not entirely cut off like it usually is in his prison of a room with its extra enchantments, he hears enough glimpses of what she's saying to derive a meaning.

“... not experienced enough for you, I think. Perhaps better for one of your guests?” 

A disconcerting grin overtakes the man's lips. SiSi's eyes flash in a fit of apprehension that the Wen Sect Leader doesn't see. 

“Why is he here then? Are you all not the finest?” he asks, raising his voice at the end. 

Of course, she sees her mistake, but so does the Madam. She steps out, “He is fairly new to this, Sect Leader Wen. That is all. Fit to be trained to your preferences, and also the son of Jin Guangshan.”

She gives a bow, as though asking for apology for the woman's oversight. 

Wen Ruohan laughs at that, the arm that encircles SiSi's waist holding her closer as he rumbles. He looks past Meng Yao, who is looking down and away from prying eyes, toward the boy's father; well, he's really a man now, after everything. Sect Leader Jin sits stiffly, expression unbothered. 

“Another son, hmm? How many children _do_ you have?” Wen Ruohan asks. It's not apparent right away that he actually expects a response, not until the man's face is cloudy with irritation.

“They are only my children if they are acknowledged,” Jin Guangshan answers.

Eyes made permanently red by the constant presence of dual metals widen with yet another laugh, “Ah, do the Jin have discipline now? Blood is blood. I do not turn away any of my children. Nor my cousins, or my cousin's cousins. That is what it means to be strong. But I suppose you know that well enough now, don't you?”

The implication is obvious, overstated by both words and action. Of course Jin Guangshan is weaker than the Wen Clan. They _all_ are. Sect Leader Jin’s face goes red, rage futile. Wen Ruohan turns away from him, back to Meng Yao.

“How about it, child?” he asks. Meng Yao doesn’t look up quite yet, clearly confused by the question. Wen Ruohan beckons him closer. Xichen leans forward on his cushion, a slew of emotions percolating in his belly. 

“Your father does not acknowledge you. Are you still a Jin?” 

Meng Yao doesn't hesitate, “I have my father’s blood, but I am my mother's son.”

Wen Ruohan hums, apparently liking this answer. He looks Meng Yao up and down even as those brown eyes stare downward. Xichen thinks he sees a tremble in his spine, but it could just be his own quivering gaze. 

After a beat, Wen Ruohan places a hand on Meng Yao's shoulder, the red material sinking under the weight of his grip as he is pushed to his knees. At the same time, Wen Ruohan nods to his son, seemingly an order to proceed.

Wen Xu goes to the line and picks two for himself, a girl and a boy, in mirror of his father. Xichen doesn't watch him, nor does he note when other Wen Clan disciples choose their own rewards. He concentrates on Meng Yao and the stale breath trapped in his lungs, trying to pick up on every word.

“What is your name?” Wen Ruohan asks.

“Meng Yao,” he says, demurely looking up at the same time. No matter Meng Yao's willingness in his role or not, he is learned enough to know precisely what the angle of his eyes does to an eager man. 

Xichen cannot abide the misty gleam in Wen Ruohan’s red irises, even from how far he sits. His eyelids sting with the force of his wish to wipe the image away, tugging his chin down to stare at the table instead. He does not know his brother has taken risks to get closer until he hears his voice, “Xiongzhang?” 

It is a welcome reprieve, in more than this situation. He treasures every moment of his brother's voice; he hears him so seldom now.

“Lan Wangji,” he responds, pausing to decide how much he wants to say. They are free to talk here after all, as long as their words do not agitate their close-standing guards. But of course those guards report to Wen Ruohan, although he is so self-assured that the Sect Leaders and relevant disciples aren't being watched as closely as they should be. But it's not like any of them could risk doing anything – there's a whole army in this city, but even without that, Wen Ruohan is never without his resentful metals. 

“It's him,” Lan Xichen says, words resigned and hollow with unresolved meaning. Lan Wangji flicks his golden eyes up and back, humming with understanding and conveying his sympathy with one sound.

After a few minutes, there are less than six individuals left in the line of flesh. Wen Ruohan calls out, “Let one go to each Sect Leader as well. Take good care of each of them; make sure they enjoy themselves.”

The debased intention behind his command scrapes down Xichen's spine. He cannot help but look up, Wen Ruohan's mouth curling with wicked glee as so many angry eyes settle on him. He thrives in their discomfort, joyous in his ability to inflict punishment through such a public and violating avenue. 

Lan Xichen looks away with a huff, glad that the very least Lan Wangji is freed from this humiliation. That is, until Wen Ruohan follows up, “And one for Wei Wuxian of course. We all know how flirtatious the man is; why not let him indulge?”

The individuals are dispersed, and it’s quite clear that they understand they are not wanted. That they are a weapon of Wen Ruohan. But they must do their job. The one who attends Xichen is an exuberant boy with light eyes, and he makes it clear he has no intention of touching Xichen beyond what is necessary to serve him and prove he is doing as Wen Ruohan demands.

That requires a hand across his shoulders, petting along his chest. None of it feels good considering the wounds still healing on those precise spots, but Xichen doesn’t say a word against it. Better to be silent. 

He meets Nie Mingjue’s eyes across the room, urging for cooperation this once. After a wordless conversation, his friend’s shoulders settle and he seems to take the advice. 

A blanket of revulsion is settled over Jiang Cheng’s entire form, body stiff where he’s being touched. Even Jin Guangshan does not rise to the bait. Wei Wuxian is the worst of them though, physically writhing away from any touch. Wen Ruohan does not see fit to punish him quite yet, seemingly distracted by his own entertainment; that is, until he shares one of them.

“You dance?” Wen Ruohan as good as announces, waving his hand towards the floor, “Then dance!”

A terrible floating sensation creeps just below Xichen’s skin as he watches Meng Yao stand with perfect etiquette from where he kneels in front of Wen Ruohan. There is a subdued but inviting smile on his lips as he takes position in the very center of the room. He's handed two fans. Out of the corner of his eye, Xichen sees the Madam speaking with the lead musician. They must have music prepared. 

Meng Yao stays tight and coiled for a few seconds of music before he bursts free. His limbs move as though tied to fetching strings, aborted here and there, smooth in others. Like a constant give and take with an invisible master, though the more Meng Yao dances, the freer his movements become. His fans are used in tandem. His clothing swirls around him, hiding patches of skin until layers are picked off. Each loss is deliberate, offering peeks of flesh that disappear with an arc of a leg only to be shown again moments later. 

For the most part, it is a tasteful performance; unexpectedly so. When Meng Yao returns to Wen Ruohan, it is clear the man thinks too tactful. The first thing he does is rend the outer robe, hands hungry.

Xichen tries so very hard not to watch, not to let his mind wander, but the combined shock and despair leave it impossible. Not to mention the feather-light nails that are roving across his own skin, withal comparatively polite, make him wish beyond wish that Wen Ruohan were not feasting on Meng Yao's gifted touches. 

Not that he wants it to be him instead; no. If he were to ask for any gift from Meng Yao, it would be the comfort of his voice.

In an effort to look anywhere but up front, Xichen glances around at the others. He notes that Jiang Cheng has broken the cup he was given, the spill of liquid all over his table, cuts likely rife on his hand. 

Nie Mingjue has his eyes closed, nose flared in a crest of rage; he's practicing calmness in a way Xichen himself taught him. And still there are moments he jerks as if to throw the girl away from him, but he manages to resist. His brother is beside him, expression crossed with frustration. If he had his customary fan, he would be shaking it incessantly. 

Jin Guangshan for his part seems to have imbibed plenty of drink and is more than allowing the girl at his side to paw all over him. Pride forgotten. What a revolting man. To be so flagrant with someone his enemy ordered to touch him. And all while his acknowledged son is watching, abandoned and mute behind him, and his other son is being used by the same enemy who imprisoned them all. 

Naturally Jin Guangshan probably thinks of it as a merited indulgence, no matter who ordered it. Beyond that, he doesn't think of Meng Yao as his son. It can all be explained in his mind. Xichen finds himself getting more upset, fingers curling to fists.

“Wei Wuxian,” Wen Ruohan says, pulling Xichen from his thoughts, “all that wriggling must be making you tired. You really want to use these few hours of clarity to exhaust yourself? 

The man is indeed doing some odd things with his body to avoid the hands endeavoring to touch him. The girl does not seem pleased to have to chase him, but Wen Zhuliu's presence nearby ensures she does whatever she must to fulfill Wen Ruohan's orders. 

“Your fault,” Wei Wuxian mumbles before speaking louder, “You've made your point. Tell her to stop!”

Wen Ruohan laughs at that, the sound so genuine that Xichen almost looks up just on impulse, “There was never a point beyond my own enjoyment. And you've all been wonderfully entertaining.”

Wen Ruohan looks at each of them as he speaks, “Jiang Cheng, bearing it with anger.”

Jiang Cheng is indeed every bit the snarling image Wen Ruohan paints, looking as he could vibrate out of his seat. 

“Jin Guangshan, you wanton creature. Of course you'd give in after so long,” and at this Sect Leader Jin blinks like he’s been slapped, though he does not remove the girl’s hands, “Your only joy in weeks! I can assure you that your boy here is making me feel the same joy.”

Xichen winces at that, nails biting into his fist and teeth grinding hard. But he doesn’t look up, doesn’t want to see the flicker of reprisal squashed down deep in Meng Yao’s eyes.

“Lan Xichen, predictably silent and respectful,” Wen Ruohan continues, “It's Nie Mingjue who surprises me the most. I thought you would fight a little more, being as uninterested in the flesh as I have heard...”

Xichen looks over at Nie Mingjue, who has managed to keep his eyes closed. Rather he stays as deeply in his meditative state as possible. But Xichen can see him twitching against the urge to show just how much he _is_ fighting. 

The smile in Wen Ruohan's tone is apparent, “But let me guess. That discipline does not come from Nie training. Does it, Lan Xichen?”

Xichen knows better than to give Wen Ruohan the attention he craves, but he finds himself looking up anyways if merely not to cause a larger issue. He wishes he hadn't. 

Meng Yao is spread across his lap, hands coiled around his neck in a way that makes it clear he was using the angle to kiss his neck. He has paused, but is currently not looking at anyone except Wen Ruohan. SiSi is massaging the Sect Leader's back while perched behind him, the throne big enough for four let alone three.

He swallows, forcing himself to look strictly at Wen Ruohan. Xichen is conflicted on whether to answer, but fortunately his input is not yet wanted, “You're the one I most wanted to watch squirm. Out of everyone here, yours is the only Sect with rules against pleasure. Tell me, have you ever been touched so intimately? Kissed?”

Perhaps he shouldn't be surprised by the line of questions, especially in light of Wen Ruohan's previous comments towards him, but he is. He didn't expect for the spotlight to be turned on him. His expression does not change though, detaching himself from the importance given to the questions. However he knows he must respond; Wen Ruohan is not patient.

“The Lan Sect rules are clear,” he answers.

Wen Ruohan sniffs in amusement, “Of course. And you're not a rule breaker, are you Zewu-Jun? So if I told that boy to kiss you, he would be your first.”

The fact that he’s right cuts. It shouldn’t matter in the face of everything else the Wens have done to them, and yet the notion that Wen Ruohan could take one more thing from him… An abstract thing, a _first kiss_ , scarcely meaningful, and still it festers. 

Particularly with Meng Yao sitting there, his presence a perpetual needle under Xichen’s skin. Being forced to paw at the tyrant while he twists the Sect Leaders around his thumb. What is going through Meng Yao's mind right now? Disdain? Pity? Concern?

Xichen schools his features. His silence proves the comment true, and so he merely holds Wen Ruohan’s gaze, hoping it is not seen as a challenge. 

“And if I told him to go to his knees? Or, perhaps, push you to yours… What would you do?” Wen Ruohan asks, tone somehow innocuous even when marred by sheer indecency. 

A flit of something hot drips down in Xichen’s chest, impaling his ribs. Paralyzing terror. 

“How dare - you disgusting swine!” comes rattling out from Nie Mingjue, meditation forgotten in the face of such a threat, “Don’t touch him!”

The wave of wrath seems only to lift Wen Ruohan’s spirits further, and he glances over with tender exhilaration. He nods, accepting Nie Mingjue’s provocation as a victory, “I thought I made it clear I wouldn’t be the one touching him. Yet, that is. I asked you a question, Lan Xichen.”

Faced with the necessity of entertaining this question while Nie Mingjue spits more curses and his brother tenses in a way that Xichen knows means action, he can only mitigate the situation. Can only hope the painted possibility doesn’t take place.

Wen Ruohan is likely teasing merely because he can, and yet he could decide to demand just that – and no one could step in. His brother would be held back. Nie Mingjue would be forced to watch. They would _all_ be forced to watch – though those who are not his allies might not be so unwilling. 

Xichen would fight, but Wen Zhuliu is here. Or even Xue Yang, who would be happy to drink in Xichen’s suffering while he pins him down. He finds himself looking at those who could make this possible with effortless ease – the Core-Melting Hand, Xue Yang, and the nameless guards who are not nearly as drunk as everyone else. Xue Yang seems the most intent on watching, hand coiled around a rope leading to Xiao Xingchen’s bare neck as he is tugged in awkwardly across his lap.

He swallows, looking down at the hand still touching him, though the boy has not moved a muscle. It is doubtless he would not wish to participate, but no one denies Wen Ruohan – no one who can’t afford to that is. 

“Nothing,” is a whisper that slices heavy on Xichen’s lips.

“What?” Wen Ruohan prompts, smug.

Xichen closes his eyes, “I could do nothing.”

He can veritably feel Wen Ruohan’s utter joy at having won this. He does so like to hear them speak of their comparative weakness, and this is nothing if not a refined moment for him. For Zewu-Jun to admit he could do nothing to stop himself from being stripped down and used in front of everyone, if Wen Ruohan commanded it… Oh yes, Wen Ruohan is more than elated.

“Maybe there _is_ a lesson to all this, Wei Wuxian,” Wen Ruohan says with a hearty laugh, “Lan Xichen here understands it well. May the rest of you learn from his shining example. Once a Jade, always a Jade, no matter how tarnished I suppose. Though we will see about that won’t we?”

Wen Ruohan snaps his fingers, and the boy by Xichen’s side is lifted up. So Xichen is rewarded at the same time the threat remains – to be acted upon at Wen Ruohan’s indiscriminate whim. If it is ever acted on at all.

In spite of being as safe as he can be at this moment, Xichen cannot look up. He can scarcely think beyond the blaring reality that Wen Ruohan is profoundly cruel and _patient_. A man who savors his pleasures, draws them out until their final flavor vanishes. 

“Xiongzhang,” and there is so much in Lan Wangji’s voice. Fury, heartache, the need for them both to be away from this.

Xichen has to hear the word twice before he can so much as acknowledge. When he does, it gives him a reason to breathe relatively normally.

“I am okay,” Xichen tells his brother, though the words are nothing but a placeholder and they both know it. But for now they will have to do. 

The vault of his thoughts at least protects Xichen from the predictable end to the night. The Wen Clan is drunk and debaucherous, the prostitutes that serve them in varying states of disarray as some lead their clients to private rooms and others do not at all. 

In intermittent moments of weakness, Xichen watches Meng Yao. His hands are never off Wen Ruohan when Xichen steals glances, his expression glazed with indulgent promises. Wen Ruohan returns the attention, always far rougher than either of the two attending him.

Xichen loathes to see Meng Yao treated like this, even if Wen Ruohan’s favor means he will be handsomely rewarded. Xichen knows he’s only doing this because he has to, but to be chosen by a man such as Sect Leader Wen…

It’s when Meng Yao is finitely pushed to _his_ knees with a hand cinched in his hair, the exact way Xichen was threatened, that he buries his eyes into the colorful food he has not touched and refuses to be distracted. Not even his brother's soft voice can pull him away. The very lining of his stomach dissipates with impotent sorrow and ravaging fear, and it's all he can do to not weep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An utter aside, but I know kohl wasn't really used in China but... forgive me?


	3. Qishan's Retribution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sect Leader Wen shows more of his vengeful side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had help editing from [ The Recorder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRecorder/pseuds/TheRecorder) and [ EdgeOfTheQuill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edge_of_the_Quill) (I definitely recommend you check out their awesome fics :D)

Xichen doesn't expect to see Meng Yao again. He has no way or reason to return to the Nightless City. It's a good thing. May he stay away from this mad den, particularly after what he was forced to do. Of course Xichen doesn’t know the half of it, and still, his already messy thoughts are plagued by what Meng Yao must have done after leaving the throne room with Wen Ruohan and SiSi.

What else does Xichen have to think about but this unpleasant situation when locked in this affluent prison of his? It’s a bedroom, or a play at one, stocked with furniture not his own. As though Xichen is a mere guest of the Wen Sect.

Generally he spends his time in states of meditation meant to keep his strength up and his mind honed away from despair. But he is not able to keep up the discipline at all times. His mind traipses to melancholy, and he thinks back on the Cloud Recesses. Constructing imaginative scenarios where they defeated the Wen Clan, or thinking about ways it could have gone right. Or why they got it so very wrong.

It is far more pleasant to think of sharing company with those he is not currently seeing suffer. Or those who are not simply ghosts of his past – he has lost so many disciples, so many friends. 

Desperately wanting to alter the course of his imagination, Xichen reminisces on the weeks he spent in Meng Yao's company instead. 

His time with Meng Yao is a strange nostalgia. He had just lost his home, and wasn't sure of the survival of his family. But with every piece of news he got, he was assured of their safety so he could focus on healing. With Meng Yao and his mother shielding him from the outside world, Xichen experienced something different from what he was accustomed to. It was enlightening as much as it was horrifying, merely because Meng Yao did not wish to be in that place.

Xichen had dreamed of returning after the War. Paying off the debt of any person in the house who wished it, but especially Meng Yao. Xichen had intended on bringing him and his mother to the Cloud Recesses. To share his home with no impending claws of fear dragging into their backs.

He wants Meng Yao in his life, both to thank him but also to get to know him. The person he could be without the pressure of survival. That had been the plan.

Plans have changed, of course; although Xichen has not given up hope that Wen Ruohan will make a mistake. That even if it takes years, the Wen Clan cannot sustain this reign of terror they've inflicted on the world. The Sect Leaders will escape, and he will be able to see Meng Yao again in a place not overgrown with malice. Xichen cannot give up that hope – if he does, the Wen have won. 

~~

The Wen Clan has a taste for torture – that has been clear for generations, both from the way they treat their criminals to the sporadic displays of power at Sect conferences; those few they deigned to attend. Then, of course, their history of war speaks for itself. During the Sunshot Campaign, every Sect Leader was well aware of what would happen if they lost. 

In spite of that, Xichen is ever shocked at the games the Wens play. How rapt they become at the gleam of blood or din of a scream. It is clear that the driving force is the main family themselves, and that many disciples are uncomfortable, but others yet are engorged by the delirium. It makes them feel powerful. Safe. And seeing as even Wen Disciples are not exempt from the potential of their master’s rages, they take moments of security where they can. 

Wen Xu uses the opportunity as a reward for juniors, and the particularly crazed ones are especially giddy when instructed to harm the Sect Leaders. Wen Ruohan’s heir is as wild as Wen Chao was, but far more capable. He has his own strength, with absolutely no need to use Wen Zhuliu or Xue Yang to do his dirty work. Each and every time the man creeps into Xichen’s prison on the basis of being _bored_ , he regrets having caught Wen Xu’s eye deep in his bones.

“Xichen, pretty Lan Xichen,” a drawling voice tinged with joyous lunacy, “Your Lan Clan is so uptight and arrogant; thought you owned the clouds, didn’t you? Now the Sun has you burned, and still you keep your chin high and your humility buried.”

A clawing sensation shreds at his gut; ever since Wen Ruohan’s threats, the reiteration that he is pretty, that the Wen clan wants to bring him to his knees, lingers like an ink-stain on fresh paper.

Wen Xu digs the leather-wound tip of his whip into the very chin he speaks of, angling Xichen’s pain-perspired face up high, “Your brother is with Wei Wuxian and my father right now. What do you think they’re up to? Maybe after, I’ll finally be allowed to break Lan Wangji’s precious leg again. I so look forward to hearing that familiar snap. But I’ve got you for now, hmm?”

He pats Lan Xichen on the back, then motions with his hands for his disciples to begin. They use much lighter whips than usual, but that doesn’t stop old wounds from reopening. When it’s over, Xichen is a shuddering mess on the flat of his stomach, cuffed hands jerking with spasms. Wen Xu lifts his head up, this time with a pinch of his fingers, smiling into his face. 

He wipes a trail of tears from Xichen's cheek, the only part of his body not stinging, “You try so hard not to make a sound. Really makes tearing one from you worth it. It’s no wonder my father likes you.”

Wen Xu's hand slides through his sweat-stained hair, reminding Xichen all the more how far gone he is. Perhaps that is why Wen Xu likes to pick on him so much. He truly _does_ feel humiliated; not being able to maintain even his own appearance. The man must pick up on that.

There is no time to recover from the raze on his body, as he is brought to Wen Ruohan before he is given a break. They prop him up with just a chain looped over a hook, arms jerked skyward. His shoulders pop, eliciting an embarrassing cry. Were it not for the subdued quiet of his Core, he might have broken a limb. He tries to look upward, and there he sees two figures, but his vision is blurry and soon the pain comes in constant flurries.

He barely remembers the session, except that the Wen heir is no longer touching him. Instead, it’s a burning drip slathered over each newly minted wound on his back and Xue Yang’s voice in his face – cackling and berating him for his sporadic whimpers.

There are things he _thinks_ he hears beyond the flood of his own heartbeat in his ear, but he can’t be sure it’s not a delusion. 

“Of all things, _this_ bothers you?” spoken by someone farther away than Xue Yang, the tone gruff enough to be Wen Ruohan. He doesn’t hear the butterfly quiet response, but he does hear what can only be Wen Ruohan’s laughter. 

“Is it because his reputation is so righteous? Because he’s handsome? Do not worry, my ember. We have not yet started on his face.”

Xichen flinches at the mere mention, only because he hopes to keep his major senses intact. To lose an eye or two would mean difficulty reading his brother’s most overt language – his expression. To lose his ears would be to never hear music again. His tongue, never to speak. Let alone his hands... There is so much left to lose.

So when Wen Ruohan asks him what he always does before this is over, he finds himself choking back refusal.

“You have been brought to your knees again and again, Lan Xichen. Will you not acknowledge me as your superior? End your pain? Rebuild the Cloud Recesses in the Wen Clan’s image?”

His silence serves as the answer; he won’t be the first to break, even if he’s terrified of what will come next.

~~

Three days after, he is summoned again. He feels much like a porcelain doll with jagged pieces he's doing his best to keep attached. The willful glue is tested as the guards haul him to Wen Ruohan's court. It is not just him led in chains this time, but the other Sect Leaders. No Lan Wangji, Jin Zixuan or Nie Huaisang. Each of them are brought in and dragged to the front, lining the ground by the stairs leading up to the dais of a throne.

They are put in the shape of a triangle, facing inward so Wen Ruohan can see their profiles and they can see each other. Surely this is intended to be another lesson, whatever it is. Once in place, Xichen takes stock of his fellow prisoners. Each looks worse for wear, but they are still in one piece. Each returns his glance with a grimaced nod. After making sure they are aware enough to respond, he looks up. 

What he sees there makes his jaw drop, heart plummeting into the bitter stew of his anxious stomach. Dark hair and pale skin made all the more stark by distinguished nighttime blue robes, Meng Yao stands sentry by Wen Ruohan. The feeling of seeing him here is so very similar to the first time, but if possible, Xichen is even more shocked. Why is he still here?!

Surprise turns to something far more convoluted as he watches Meng Yao serve Wen Ruohan, offering him tea in bowed hands. Before he has the chance to take a step away, Wen Ruohan reaches up to pat his cheek; the gesture should be solely patronizing, but Meng Yao preens. Xichen can’t see his face, but he can tell just by his stature. From the way a slow, lazy smile slides across Wen Ruohan’s lips. Meng Yao shifts away to settle on his knees a few feet away, face a mask of indifference as he surveys the room. 

Xichen tries to get his attention, but Meng Yao passes right over him. It’s as though a knife glides into a tough spot between his ribs, and suddenly he has trouble breathing. Were it not for Wei Wuxian’s entry into the room, he might have gotten lost in panic.

Guided by Xue Yang, Wei Wuxian is shoved down to the spot he takes almost every time Lan Xichen has seen him. Limbs and chest coiled with energy, fastened at Wen Ruohan's feet. A collar of melded iron to show his status as Wen Ruohan’s dog. 

Like during the so-called celebration of the Wen victory, Wei Wuxian is more conscious than is typical, but his body moves with telltale grogginess. However his eyes remain sharp, dripping with simultaneous disregard and hatred, managing to make the latter seem cool and the former hot. 

His exhausted features change so desperately when someone else is led in past the flaming center of the room. Not just someone, a person with cuffed hands, an ashy face, and a limp. With a lurch, Xichen realizes it's Wen Qing.

When Wei Wuxian went missing what feels like forever ago, Wangji learned everything he could from Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli about the circumstances. Because Wangji learned, so did Xichen. 

Wen Qing and Wen Ning are the reason Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli were able to disappear and return on their own terms. Xichen doesn't know the details, no one does, but Jiang Yanli did tell Wangji that they were hidden in Wen Qing's supervisory office.

And now, unadulterated dread consumes Wei Wuxian's face. When Xichen looks at the other Jiang in the room, he sees a similar fracture of composure. 

Wen Qing is an ally of theirs, and Xichen knows personally that though she was punished for her assistance of the Jiang siblings, Wen Qing has been forgiven. She has healed each and every one of them more than once; including his own back and chest just two days prior. She must also still be playing her original, very important role by healing Sect Leader Wen considering he still toys with the Yin Metal and Stygian Tiger Seal while bearing little to no consequence. 

For Wen Ruohan to have his medicine woman dragged out in a flurry of disgrace in the sight of an audience only bodes ill.

“Wen Ruohan, please, it was me,” Wen Qing all but sobs as she is quite literally thrown to her hands and knees in front of the stairs. Her right leg juts out awkwardly, a gasp in her voice revealing marrow-deep agony. 

“Silence, Wen Qing,” Wen Ruohan commands, baring no room for disagreement, “You said this all before, when you begged for your lives the last time. You should have known better than to flaunt your security so shamelessly. Isn’t that right, Wei Wuxian?” 

Disorientated, Wei Wuxian utters a hollow “What?” as he looks between the two, utterly at a loss.

Wen Ruohan reaches down to stroke Wei Wuxian's haphazardly brushed hair, the red ribbon that used to tie it in place long gone. His fingers grip tightly after the second placating pat, “You are not very mindful of your words when you’re stuck in a craze, firefly.”

His words trigger a daze of cognizance to flit over Wei Wuxian, settling in only when another figure is brought into the room. The identity of the person is immediately apparent by the stilted, hesitant gait, the innocent bumbling remnant of only one individual.

“Wen Ning!” his sister cries out, the sound of it rattling like ash from a fire, up up up and dispersing in a gradual ache. 

“Wen Ruohan,” Wei Wuxian starts, but is silenced by a powerful slap. The demonic cultivator’s head hits the throne, bouncing back into Wen Ruohan’s waiting hand. Xichen flinches at the heavy sound, glad Wangji is not here to witness this.

Which leads Xichen to wonder why they are here. Is this a warning to them? Do not have allies, Wen Ruohan says; no one is safe. 

Xichen flicks his gaze to Meng Yao, his chest freezing as he realizes the other is looking at him first. There’s nothing to be found in the stare, nothing obvious, although Meng Yao does look away as soon as their eyes meet. 

It does nothing to settle him, rather, it teases the edge he’s already on. An edge which tapers up violently as Wen Ning says his sister’s name pitifully. Wen Qing starts pleading again despite being told to stop.

“Wen Ruohan, please,” her voice wavering between hoarse and unyielding, “Take it out on me! Kill me!”

The mere tenor of her voice is enough to wrench Xichen’s heart to pieces, but it’s nothing compared to the realization of _why_ she’s asking to be killed instead. Bow drawn and ready, Xue Yang stands by Wei Wuxian, a scant distance away; one he cannot breech both because of the dark energy holding him back but more practically, Wen Ruohan’s hand in his dirty hair. He seems to enjoy the way Wei Wuxian whines and tugs, held up from his sitting position so the weight on his scalp must burn.

The disturbing, self-gratified smirk on Xue Yang’s face is all too familiar as he hones in on his prey. Xichen finds himself almost disassociating, stupidly focusing on the fact that he didn’t know Xue Yang could even use a bow – he has only ever been seen with his sword, and more recently, Xiao Xingchen’s sword, Shuanghua. 

When a grunt breaks from Wen Ning’s throat and Xue Yang laughs and shrugs with a casual “Oops, I missed”, Xichen realizes that is precisely why he was chosen.

Wen Ruohan means Wen Ning to die in humiliation and misery, with arrow after arrow slowly draining his blood. It won’t be quick, and it won’t be easy. 

Wen Ning reaches out for his sister even as he collapses to his knees, his guards stepping aside because they are no long necessary. Four arrows jut out of his stretched body, trying so hard to reach her. Wen Qing would be at his side were she allowed, but Wen Xu holds her by her slim wrists. She struggles just as Wei Wuxian does, their protests amalgamating into an abysmal din. 

The canopy of tension stretched over each and every one of them is smothering; all they hear are screams, sobs, and the sound of arrows finding home in soft flesh. Xichen’s cheek is wet with a pour of tears, knuckles white as he clenches his fist. He forces himself to look, to share in Wen Qing’s pain because it would be wrong of him to spare himself. His back aches in commiseration with each twitch of his body.

He thinks of his brother, imagination cruelly placing Lan Wangji in Wen Ning's position. He jerks like one would when dreaming of falling, blinking past tears as the form in front of him blurs from black robes to white. 

Would he be able to continue fighting were his brother to die? Once, he could have promised himself he would have the conviction. Once, he was confident that the Lan Clan's existence is more important than even his brother, or himself. But now, after having lost his uncle, father, and so many disciples, and being trapped in this place for so long without his brother... He's not so sure.

What he does know is he would scream and weep as Wen Qing is if his brother were taken from him. He would look a wreck, all propriety forgotten, a sight which none have ever seen from him. None but his brother and to a smaller degree Meng Yao, who now sits at the hand of a tyrant. 

He spares a glance at the man, not knowing how to feel about the numbness present on his face. He pulls back to Wen Ning who is giving his death throes in quiet gurgles and jerking hands. 

He has managed to crawl closer to his sister, whose energy is waning even if she proceeds to fight the hands holding her back. Wei Wuxian on the other hand merely twists weakly in Wen Ruohan's hold, expression gnarled and resigned. It is not a sight Xichen would have expected from the man, but they have all become very different creatures in the Nightless City. 

Xue Yang shoots one last arrow, this one ending up uselessly in the boy's leg. It's unnecessary, and they all know it. A fist slams into a table nearby, and Xichen is perhaps the only one not surprised to see it's Nie Mingjue, eyes bloodshot as he glares with profound fury. The man is driven by justice, and this is the opposite of just, no matter Wen Ning or Wen Qing's transgression. 

Finally, the wet, haggard breathing of Wen Ning ceases. It's a mercy to him, as much as that reality stings Xichen's conscience. Xue Yang places his bow down and walks over to Wen Qing with purpose, slipping a finger playfully across her cheek. She may be lost in her own anguish, but she is not unresponsive. She bites at his fingers, much to Xue Yang's amusement. 

“You know,” he says to her before turning his sickeningly delighted gaze to his Master, “I did find something peculiar on Wen Ning. He has a soul-trapping pouch tucked in his robes.”

His dark eyes flick down to Wen Qing again, deliberate and slow. Haunting realization simmers across her tear-angry eyes. She looks to Wei Wuxian, who seems so out of it he may not have even heard the comment. But Wen Ruohan shakes him, still holding him by his hair.

“What luck then!” Sect Leader Wen declares with all too much cheerfulness. A snake of trepidation taps down Xichen's chest, slithering to his stomach. 

“It's the perfect opportunity to experiment. Wei Wuxian, you had best make it work. Wen Qing needs her brother back, does she not?” 

A threat coiled into a promise of relief; malicious and shrewd. Xichen isn't quite sure what Wei Wuxian can do, but Wen Ruohan clearly has an idea. He makes it all the more clear when he tosses Wei Wuxian aside only to stand and make his way to Wen Qing. He reaches down and pets her hair slowly, like her truly cares for her. She looks up at him with indecipherable emotion, feeling too many for strictly one to stand out.

“You have been punished enough. You may return to work. In the future, be mindful of your emotions, and your brother's. If he ends up having any, that is.”

A shirk of fear causes Wen Qing's whole body to quake. The significance of such words make all the sane ones in the room shiver – Wen Ruohan means to have Wei Wuxian try and turn Wen Ning into a living corpse. What a sad fate that would be, one that goes against all the laws of nature. And yet there's a tinge of hope in Wen Qing's eyes, and that, too, is wretched.


	4. The First Rebirth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wei Wuxian is forced to use his demonic cultivation for Wen Ruohan, and he isn't the only one who gets involved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I have not been posting as much - I unfortunately have the stomach flu, but I am finally recovering so I will get back to steady updates!

Seemingly knowing his presence is a sore spot, Wen Xu brings Xue Yang with him when he visits next. Xue Yang is not a frequent tormentor, but he is always more unwelcome than Wen Xu. He's a wild card, with no goals except his own enjoyment. He is unafraid of Wen Ruohan and will overstep any boundary given to him.

At first, he simply paces around Xichen without really paying him much mind. Instead, he tells Wen Xu of his most recent tactics with Xiao Xingchen. That he finally convinced the rogue cultivator to call him 'master'.

“It was a beautiful sight. That sanctimonious Daozhang, crawling on flayed knees and palms; took me hours to slice his skin off in the first place,” his voice tickles with delight the more he speaks, “I had to chain him in place to keep him from moving around too much.”

“I am glad your pet is doing well,” Wen Xu says with an audible eye roll.

“Hey now Wen-gongzi, jealousy isn't a good look on you,” Xue Yang teases, the honorific dripping with sarcasm, “You get access to all the Sect leaders whenever you want. Not my fault you can't keep one. Have you even asked? What about that little Nie?”

Xichen doesn't expect the full body ripple that jars the chains holding his wrists high on a hook above him. The mere mention of his friend's younger brother sends images he has been trying to avoid rushing through his brain.

“Oh, don't like that, do you?” Xue Yang says with a sharp grin, rounding on Xichen, “Guess I'll just have to give the Little Princess some extra attention the next I see him. Just for you. I'll even be sure to tell him who says hello.”

Wen Xu chuckles in tandem, “It's about time we dote on that boy anyways. Nie Mingjue is getting a bit uppity again.”

The force at which Xichen is grinding his jaw pops in his ear. Xue Yang is right in front of him now, reaching out to grab his chin and throw his head from side to side, “You're a sentimental fool. All of you are. You make it so easy!”

He then scrapes a line across Xichen's cheek with what must be a deliberately blunt knife, humming, “Well this won't stick now will it?”

He cuts another line unevenly over the top. It's deep enough for a slip of warmth to spread just below the sting. Xichen keeps his mouth shut, but his eyes leak salt water into the wound. He flinches when the two meet, and Xue Yang laughs. 

When he guides the knife to the other side, Wen Xu stops him, “No, only the one. As it is, my father might be upset that you marred his pretty face.”

Xue Yang pouts, appraising, knife still hovering, “You sure? I can't just... Oh fine! At least Lan Wangji is more entertaining. We get to play with _him_.”

His brother's name ignites Xichen's otherwise deliberately cool temper, proving true Xue Yang's accusation that their sentimentality makes them easy. He cannot help but wonder if the comment is correct. If Xue Yang and Wen Xu are allowed to _play_ with Lan Wangji. 

And what that word could mean ranges from this almost mundane physical torture to threats far more intimate; he has not been able to shake the trepidation that Wen Ruohan tucked tight underneath his skin at the banquet. 

The feral spark of possibility razes his thoughts. Wen Xu has made plenty of implications in the past, but for some reason it is Xue Yang that makes the gravity sink in. Of course Lan Wangji would be a favorite of theirs – he is the embodiment of stoicism, and the Wens are walking hammers. Crude and eager to prove their superiority. 

Lan Wangji's endurance gives them a challenge, not to mention he is likely expending much of his energy on worries about Xichen and Wei Wuxian rather than his own spiritual, mental, and physical maintenance. 

That is particularly true if Lan Wangji knows what Wei Wuxian is being forced to do – how he is being compelled to seek ways to piece a soul back together. To dabble in necromancy only spells comeuppance, and it is assured Wei Wuxian will be genuine in his efforts in spite of who is demanding him to. It is understandable too, not just because disappointing Wen Ruohan will surely bear consequences but because he owes a debt of life to Wen Ning and his sister. He will want to fulfill his duty to them, and in turn himself. 

Wei Wuxian is not accustomed to being helpless, and the opportunity to control life and death in the face of Wen Ruohan's dominion over them must be alluring. Perhaps it even feeds the ambition that he can grow stronger than Wen Ruohan. And is that such a bad thing for his allies? 

Wei Wuxian finding confidence, and perhaps even beating Wen Ruohan at his own game. Maybe that's all they have. And out of all of them, Wei Wuxian is the only one capable of carrying such a dark burden and not letting it consume him. So they would hope... 

It is truly desperate times when Xichen muses on the possibility of necromancy being permissible. His Uncle would be furious, but his uncle is dead, and they are at a terrible precipice. Who is Xichen to judge what it takes to liberate them?

Of course, that is if Wei Wuxian can succeed. 

The chance to see arrives just a few days after Xue Yang's visit, the cut on his cheek scabbed over by the time he is taken to the throne room yet again. Everyone is there this time, even Jin Zixuan and Nie Huaisang. Wen Qing too is placed next to Wen Xu, the traditionally set tables they sit at a mockery of casual. The rest are situated as they always are, near enough to their family to find some solace in the orchestrated reprieve. He and Lan Wangji share a look, one that has Xichen on his toes. Wangji is utterly troubled under his controlled facade.

Beyond his brother, the first thing Xichen notes is that Wei Wuxian is not chained by Wen Ruohan's throne. Rather, he is given free reign in the center of the floor. He is more put together than Xichen has seen since their capture. Hair recently washed and tied with the red ribbon that had been missing before, clothing dark and fresh. But there is still a collar around his neck, face bone-rigid and gaze tempered with a sort of subdued craze. He's the epitome of single-minded focus, hanging off an edge of potential failure.

He circles a motionless figure absolutely covered in talismans – on first glance, the only distinguishable feature is the black curtain of hair that falls over their face. On second glance, it's the crooked knuckles peeking out at his sides. They're corpse pale but for the pop of straining blue veins. Xichen thinks he sees them pulse with contrived life. 

So Wei Wuxian succeeded in making Wen Ning a living corpse. What else is there to do? Why are they all here?

Xichen looks up at the throne to see if more of the ploy is written on the game master's face. Instead of focusing on Wen Ruohan, he is distracted by the individual who has seemingly taken Wei Wuxian's place at the foot of his dais. Meng Yao is kneeling there, heels tucked up behind him. He's clad in simplistic dark gray with extravagant beetle-wing purple designs on the hems. The muted colors make him seem a ghost, the perhaps intentional invisibility weaponized by the embellishment of his insect wing, usually reserved for nobility. He's risen in stature, whilst still being a fetching trifle in the eyes of Sect Leader Wen.

The penchant for dangling mistresses in public has never been Wen Ruohan's habit – though his own father and his son Wen Chao were both known for it. This is atypical, and it digs under Xichen's skin. Why Meng Yao? He does not seem to be there under duress; his features are not blank, but rather keen. He leans back freely, head tilted just enough to invite Wen Ruohan's stroking finger. 

It stings, the sheer surrealism of it a stinking rot that dribbles outward from Xichen's clenched stomach. That feeling only gets worse as Wen Ruohan waves his hand, commanding Wei Wuxian to begin with a looming, “Show me what you've learned.”

What follows feels like a fever dream. Wei Wuxian lifts his flute to his lips, Chenqing having been returned to him for this specific task. The body of Wen Ning responds in perfect precision. With the uplift of a shrill note, his left arm rises. With a low note, his right leg. But precise control does not seem to be Wei Wuxian's goal.

Abruptly, Chenqing sends out a flurry of discordant melodies. There is no obvious prescription to it, and Wen Ning is appropriately confused. Then the music smooths out, something like a goal in mind. It is in these moments that there are heavy twitches of Wen Ning's head, his body moving less like the undead and more like a bewildered child straining to find sense in the dark. Even more telling is the fact that he moves toward Wen Qing.

The air around the austere audience is at the edge of a pin. Every sound echoes, every breath heady with a quickness to be silent again. The miraculous progress turns on its head so abruptly that Xichen blinks more than once and still doesn't register what went wrong until screams have already died in mangled throats. 

It is indescribably perturbing to see the body of Wen Ning of all people become so very capable at ripping through flesh. Whatever Wei Wuxian did to bandage his soul and tie it back down to his earthly body transformed him into a black eyed, blue-veined beast.

Wen disciples lay in a small heap near Wen Qing. Much too close to the throne to be suffered lightly. Guards rush to shield their leader. Meng Yao too stands with arms crossed, as though ready to fight. He doesn't strike the fitful warrior he likely thinks he does, but it scarcely matters. Wen Ruohan however stays calmly sitting even as Wen Ning blusters his way in his direction.

“If he gets closer, Wei Wuxian, your experiment is over,” Wen Ruohan cautions, voice calm as the stone of his throne room is gradually spattered with pink tissue and torn limbs. Wei Wuxian responds with a look of panic, flute changing tune in an effort to reign Wen Ning in. When it fails, he sputters with platitudes and tries again.

Xichen and the other prisoners cannot move from their tables, shackled in place. Wen Ning doesn't seem to care about the sitting ducks though, rather he goes for moving targets. Any moving target. Wen Qing seems to realize that, staying immobile even as Wen Xu lifts his weapon to engage Wen Ning. When the Wen heir is easily lifted by the throat, Wen Ruohan finally intervenes with an outstretched hand.

Wen Ning is whipped back from his prey. Drawn up into the air by the power of the Yin Metal, he flails angrily but uselessly. He looks like a little doll, movements aborted and stiff.

“You had your chance,” Wen Ruohan states as he crushes his fingers into a fist. Wen Ning does not gasp, having no breath to do so, but his face does become almost comically crunched. Quite literally squeezed on the inside. The concept would be ridiculous were it not so tragic to see the boy dying yet again, in spite of the debatable remnant of his actual existence.

“No! Please!” Wei Wuxian begs, clamoring in Wen Ruohan's direction, “Not like this! Put him down! Let me try again.”

Sect Leader Wen lashes out with his other hand, stopping Wei Wuxian in his tracks. Unlike the living corpse, he has air to lose, hands scrabbling at his throat. Lan Wangji lurches forward. Xichen reaches out to push him back.

“Sect Leader,” a voice slices through the aching clamor of pained groans from Wen Ning's victims. The tone is tactfully refined with a hint of shy urgency, but it nonetheless feels overtly unwanted. Yet, Wen Ruohan shifts his gaze towards it with joint traces of annoyance and intrigue. 

“It would be a shame to lose such a weapon without using every tool at your disposal,” Meng Yao advises modestly, head bowed but eyes tilted up, “And you have the Gusu Lan Sect.”

He doesn't need to say anything further; the reputation of the Lan Clan speaks for itself. They are known for calming spirits – can they not also do the same with a living corpse? A blade of betrayal settles between Xichen's ribs; the same dagger that slipped into him the last time he saw Meng Yao in this very room. This time though, it twists with ruthless efficiency. 

Xichen tries very hard not to surrender to his feelings, the rage or the unease, but he has never been as good as Lan Wangji at concealment. He is quite sure he glares at Meng Yao's averted face. At Wen Ruohan's scrutiny. He is fully prepared to refuse _if_ Wen Ruohan agrees. It will require returning access to their Cores, something he may be unwilling to do. Yet it's the principle of the matter. Lan skills will not be used for something so abhorrent.

But then Xichen thinks about the lack of judgment he gave to Wei Wuxian for his efforts. The underhanded chance that this could work in their favor. 

“Which one?” Wen Ruohan says to no one in particular, eyes skirting between the Twin Jades. He releases Wei Wuxian at the same time, and in the man's first gulp of air, he perhaps inadvertently answers for him - “Lan Zhan!”

Lan Wangji closes his eyes in resignation. Wen Ruohan flings a choosing hand in his direction and Wen Xu moves toward to take up the order. Xichen tries to catch his brother's attention, but his eyes remain closed until after Wen Xu has smugly reconnected his access to his Core. It seems there was an unseen command to bring Wangji as well, the instrument held by a nameless Wen Disciple. 

His brother gives him just one glance, and in that icy stare, Xichen knows even if he told Lan Wangji no, he would be ignored. He has decided to help Wei Wuxian – to commit an atrocity against Lan tradition. And Xichen doesn't have it in him to be disappointed by what it's come to. Instead, he is nearly relieved to be resolved of the decision. Although, if this indeed does succeed, he will make sure Lan Wangji does not stand alone in his responsibility.

Speaking with spirits has its nobility. Spirits can help solve crimes and bring closure. But manipulating corpses is not so honorable; Xichen has known this to be a fact his whole life. And yet, watching the effect of Chenqing and Wangji on the struggling Wen Ning feels so very far from dishonorable. It feels more like justice to return some semblance of sanity to a boy forced into an early death only to be turned into a ghoul against his will.

He stops fighting Wen Ruohan's grasp on him. His body is released as a result, and there he stands, no hint of violence gracing his frame. But it's not merely control that is restored to Wen Ning's decaying mind. The whites of Wen Ning's eyes filter past the consuming inky-black. He _blinks_. And then he answers his sister's cry. 

“Wen Ning?”

“Jie...” 

To say the breath is punched out of Xichen would be an understatement. No one has ever seen something like this before; a living corpse brought back to awareness. Enough to talk, to know themselves and their family. 

Even Wen Ruohan is taken aback, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. But then he's smiling, and it's one of the most terrible sights Xichen has ever seen. Because he's smiling at Lan Wangji. At Wei Wuxian. In one look, he devours them both. With one gesture, the room is emptied, and all Xichen can do is look back to see his brother standing next to Wei Wuxian and his jointed creation Wen Ning before the doors bar him from knowing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Xiyao interactions will be becoming the crux of this story again starting next chapter! So, less torture, more dialogue and softness for at least a few chapters.


	5. Meng Yao Visits Xichen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meng Yao and Xichen finally reunite.

To witness the dissipation of mist from a corpse's eyes for the first time in known history is unsettling on its own. Having watched Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji be the two to pull off the abominable miracle has settled something sour and growing in the pit of Xichen's conscience. The whet of possession in Wen Ruohan's crimson eyes when he had looked from Wen Ning to Wei Wuxian to Lan Wangji only to be left alone with them causes that pit to sprout jagged stems of agitation.

Even after a day, Xichen absolutely cannot meditate – rather, he gives himself to wicked pacing and bouts of nausea driven by incessant thoughts. Before, Lan Wangji was but a tool to use against Xichen, and to a smaller degree Wei Wuxian. After all, the demonic cultivator’s true weak spot is his family. But now, Wen Ruohan must see all the potential coiled up in Lan Wangji. He will want to unravel him for his own purposes.

And all because of Meng Yao. Although the Lan Clan’s ability to work with spirits is well known, there is undeniably an intimacy to Meng Yao knowing the details. Xichen told him tales in close comfort about he and his brother’s particularly unique talent, and Meng Yao has used that as a weapon to gain favor. He _wants_ Wen Ruohan’s approval, and is exploiting Xichen’s family to get it. 

Xichen feels sicker than he did even the first time his body was flayed nearly to the bone. He is on the edge of hyperventilating, and it is only when his breathing becomes so sporadic that he suffers white blitzes in his vision that he finally forces himself to kneel down. He places his palms squarely on his lap, spine straight, and traces his breathing pattern to pick off inconsistencies.

At some point, the guarded door to his room opens quietly, just enough for a single person to step through before it shuts again. Xichen's brow twitches – the door never opens like that. It is always virtually flung open with brazen announcement of entry, and a promise of pain. 

He doesn't turn around, aware that he will be manhandled into paying attention anyways. He won't give whoever it is the satisfaction. What he doesn't expect is the sound of a voice that he has been dreaming about in high esteem for days, months, all until a day ago when it became the last thing he wants to hear. 

“Zewu-Jun,” Meng Yao says with subdued conviction, “Please turn around. I'm not here to hurt you.”

His stomach freezes in its crazed swirl, the hunk of ice slipping down even as his temper rises. Xichen is at least grateful that Meng Yao uses his title – he has lost the right to use his courtesy name.

“You,” Xichen spits out, lilt poised in unbalance, “After all this time, you talk to me _now_?”

“I could not get to you before! At least let me explain,” Meng Yao as good as begs, the tremor in his voice sending a ripple through Xichen’s sore mind.

The conflict of having seen Meng Yao sway his master to use Lan Wangji to create a humane atrocity while still wanting so very much to listen to the individual whose mere thought has given Xichen so much hope mixes into white-hot confusion. His spine slumps, body falling so his palms hit the ground. He feels more than hears Meng Yao move in his direction, and he lifts a hand to stop him. He draws in a breath that perhaps sounds like a sob, but he doesn't turn.

“Then tell me.”

Meng Yao takes a deliberate breath, “Thank you, Sect Leader Lan.”

The formality of it does nothing to ease Xichen's temper; if anything it just sounds wrong in Meng Yao's tone.

“It’s best to start at the beginning. When so many of us were gathered in Yunping and told we were going to the Nightless City, I didn't dare dream that I would see you. There's rumors about what happened to the Sect Leaders, with only one commonality. You're alive in humiliation. For now.”

Xichen is fully aware of the rumors that must be abounding about them. Not to mention their effect on what remains of their Sects – though of course that is part of the Wen's plan. The Sects are leaderless in application, but their leaders being alive keeps them subdued until the Wen Clan makes their next move.

They could aim for complete absorption, or a new existence under a truce – no matter which, it will be slavery. Wen Ruohan has talked of his vision of the Gusu Lan Clan plenty before, and it is always surrender of identity.

“When I saw you there in the throne room, I wanted nothing more than to talk to you. I thought, maybe, we would be given to the Sect Leaders. I had hoped...”

Even if Xichen lived with Meng Yao for only a short while, one consistent trait of his is that he rarely leads off to silence. He doesn't usually stutter either, seemingly always knowing what to say. He has decided to speak without saying a word, and his meaning is quite obvious.

 _'I had hoped I would be given to you'._

The chunk of ice in Xichen's stomach cracks and drifts.

“It was the only way to speak to you,” Meng Yao clarifies, tone doused with feather-weight guilt, gone in a wisp, “But then Wen Ruohan chose me. We were warned of his temper, and his penchant for violence. I was careful. SiSi and I helped each other. What was supposed to be one night turned into another, then another. He liked us, and offered us a place here.”

His lilt appears smooth and collected, but there's a buzz of turmoil brushing close to those unspoken truths in the innocuous 'liked us'. What goes unsaid sparks the dry kindle of Xichen's imagination, the implications setting in. It's not at all like seeing Meng Yao next to Wen Ruohan, knowing what was going to happen, what _has_ happened – in those moments, he does not need to think about the details. 

Truly lecherous contemplation is not in Xichen’s nature; his upbringing ensured his instincts are against it. He also does not have personal examples to draw from, except perhaps his closeness to Nie Mingjue, never acted upon, and that chaste night he spent in Meng Yao's bed. Beyond that, his closest experience is unfortunately Wen Xu and Wen Ruohan's exploration of his sore and bloody skin, a reality that he refrains from thinking about as often as possible.

But here, now, with Meng Yao hovering behind him - his very breath audible - Xichen's mind wanders into otherwise untraversed territory. What exactly did Meng Yao do that swayed Wen Ruohan's attentions so much that he wanted to _keep_ him? The Wen Clan Leader has particular tastes, and from what he has shown to the Sect leaders, and the attitude of his son, one would think only blood and tears would satisfy him. But of course the side that Meng Yao and SiSi have seen is one that Xichen cannot truly ruminate on. He can only hopes Wen Ruohan is less vicious.

Considering how unlikely that is, Xichen wonders how many injuries Meng Yao is nursing. If there are finger-shaped bruises pressed into his arms, legs, and hips or bite marks lining his neck. If he aches inside and out. If there’s a part of him that likes it. 

Xichen immediately feels burned by his own maliciousness – Meng Yao didn’t want to be touched before, why would he want to be touched now? And by that animal of a man? He is glad for Meng Yao's continued explanation lest his mind continue to elaborate, though the heat in his vision belies his anger.

“SiSi stayed because I did. And I stayed because I knew if I left, I may never see you again. And I want to help you,” Meng Yao says, the remarkable sincerity jerking Xichen right out of his stupor, “You, your brother, and your friends. I know how much Hanguang-jun and Chifeng-zun mean to you.”

Help him.

Xichen blinks.

And his _brother?_

He turns around then, matching stormy eyes with sky. 

“Help my brother?! You gave him up!” Xichen seethes with a ferocity that’s been building, “You gave Wen Ruohan another reason to look at Lan Wangji. To use him.”

Meng Yao's brown eyes dart down and back up, “Yes. You're right. But it was not without a plan. Hanguang-Jun will be allowed to speak to Wei Wuxian now. To work with him. Wen Ruohan will think them both tamed by threats against their loved ones.”

Even if the idea sounds ridiculous, it bears some merit. Wei Wuxian is one of their only ways out of this – his strength may be tethered, but he is the maker of the Stygian Tiger Seal. If he can manage to regain his wits and leverage, he can free them all with minor assistance. 

Lan Wangji spent months during the Sunshot Campaign learning melodies to soothe resentful energy – surely he could turn his music on Wen Ruohan and his corpse army. The Wen Disciples, barring Wen Xu and Wen Zhuliu, could be overcome without the Yin Metal or Stygian Tiger Seal. 

With Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian able to work together, albeit supervised, who knows what chinks in the armor they could find.

“It was also for you, Zewu-Jun,” Meng Yao explains further, “You need to be in comparative good health for Hanguang-Jun to cooperate. No more will Wen Xu see you as personal entertainment. Wen Ruohan will still call upon you, but he won't be as brutal.”

Lan Xichen flinches at the mention, wondering how much Meng Yao knows. How much he saw. Admittedly, Xichen does not recall seeing Meng Yao during his last session in the throne room, but he was not really in any state to notice much beyond the weapons bearing down on him and the Wen's razor toothed smiles. Though, now that he thinks about it, he recalls Wen Ruohan talking to someone. Soothing them. It must have been Meng Yao, and he must have been upset about Xichen’s treatment.

A burble of pride and thin hope surges alive, but reality chains it back down. 

“My brother will not cater to evil,” Xichen says, noting the sharp jolt of Meng Yao's expression; he must not have factored in Lan Wangji's strict moral code, “You are wrong about his safety, and mine. I imagine I will be brought to Wen Ruohan all the more after this. Whose ill-advised plan is this?”

Meng Yao schools his features, offering a sedate hum, “Someone who has as much to lose as you do. As all of your allies do. It would be wrong of me to say, so early on. It may seem ill-advised as you say, but there is more to it than you can know. You will be told of everything, I promise, but for now I am asking you to trust me.”

“Why?” Xichen replies with more of a snap than he intends, “You are risking so much, and for a plan that puts yourself in harm’s way, and my brother in greater danger. You said you wanted to explain, and all I hear are more questions.”

Some Xichen cannot resist asking, “Why not just earn Wen Ruohan's attention long enough to free you and your mother? Your need to help me cannot be so extreme as to lose this opportunity.”

Xichen needs to know. After all, originally, when Meng Yao helped him in Yunping, he wanted a favor called in for him and his mother. And Xichen would have delivered, if he could. There had been a warmth to that desire, now usurped by cold.

The inquiry doesn’t settle well with Meng Yao, that much is obvious from his consternated features.

“Even if I did not wish to stay to find a way to free you, Wen Ruohan won't let me leave,” Meng Yao declares as though it is like biting stone, “SiSi, however, will be going back to Yunping soon. She will free my mother, and I trust SiSi to take care of her in my absence.”

There is a sincere twist to his latter words, and Xichen finds himself slipping back into at least the shadow of familiar faith.

“Won't let you leave?” Xichen nudges in concern more than disbelief, wavering to and fro between wanting to support Meng Yao and being doubtful of the man's role in all this. 

It’s only now, when his anger has subsided at least a little, that he notices how pale Meng Yao is. He seems almost a ghost, and there are multi-colored bruises lining his neck. Bandages peek out from his extravagant robes, hiding what must be Wen Ruohan’s more overt tokens.

Meng Yao doesn't respond right away. Rather, he looks at Xichen with something akin to desperation, clearly searching for words. Xichen lets go of a breath he didn't even know he was holding, eyes narrowing as he opens his mouth to inquire further. But then Meng Yao shakes his head, on the precipice, and Xichen lets him be the one to fill the space.

“Wen Ruohan is a practical man,” Meng Yao concludes after a moment, explanation sobering, “He is not forgiving, nor is he emotional in the strictest sense. He likes people who are useful to him. I have proven myself useful. He will not let me go until I have served my purpose.”

Needles of assumption stab one by one down the taut ridges of Xichen's spine. His _purpose_. That can only mean one thing in Meng Yao's position, and again Xichen is thinking of Wen Ruohan believing he owns Meng Yao. Instead of losing himself to images of Wen Ruohan pinning Meng Yao's much smaller body, he focuses on playful bitterness – as playful as this situation can be.

“So you're _not_ staying just to help me then,” Xichen says dryly.

Pleasantly startled, the dimples on Meng Yao's cheek lend light to his shadowed expression, “Oh, Zewu-Jun, don't sell yourself short. Winning that monster’s attention would never be worth it if I did not have your company to look forward to.”

Xichen is taken aback by that, so much so that it takes a few beats for his features to shift into a subtle smile, the shape of it something he almost forgot.

Unfortunately, the magic is broken as Meng Yao flicks his eyes towards the door, seemingly hearing something. He climbs to his feet, though Xichen does note that he does not put full weight on his left leg, “It is time for me to leave. Now that I have gained more of Wen Ruohan’s trust, I will be able to see you again. Give me a few days, and I will return. I will prove myself to you again, Sect Leader Lan. I promise.”

~~

Although Xichen doesn't expect Meng Yao to be so quick to fulfill his promise, he does indeed slip back into Xichen's prison two days later. He brings with him food, medicine, and information. He starts by reassuring Xichen of the health of his brother, and the relative condition of the Nie brothers. 

Xichen does not engage with him right away, but he does at least turn to face him this time. He has had long enough to contemplate the threads Meng Yao has dangled in front of him, and to accept them as his only option. But there is so much doubt, and bafflement at Meng Yao putting himself at risk like this. 

He cannot help but think there's a large part of Meng Yao who likes this danger – likes the _power_ it brings. It must be something special, to be favored by the man who rules this place. Such presumption just brings shame to Xichen. But he reminds himself, as much as he thinks he knows Meng Yao, he spent but a week with him. He is struck with the desire to get to know him again, this new him. 

“Meng Yao, do you get any time to yourself here? Time to breathe, to be apart?”

He doesn't even realize he's interrupting until he realizes that Meng Yao's mouth is open mid-word. His mouth shuts and he tilts his head, immediately considering like it doesn't matter that Xichen wasn't paying attention to him before. And perhaps it doesn't – not to him. If anyone, Meng Yao would understand one's mind wandering. 

“I do,” he starts, satiating Xichen while he thinks about a fuller answer, “The Wen Clan has a wonderful library. They have have a few surprisingly good poets in their family. But it’s their music collection I like most.”

It is at least a little assuaging to know that Meng Yao is given time to be himself. 

“You may be proud to know that I have been practicing the guqin. I will never be as good as you or Lan Wangji but perhaps one day you will permit me to play with you.”

At the mention of the guqin, a ruffle of yearning stirs in Xichen's chest. He misses Liebling, his xiao having been taken from him long ago. But more than the void in his hands at the thought of playing, he misses early mornings of melody with his brother. Surely when they get out of here – the _if_ they get out stays forcibly shut behind the walls of his mind - Meng Yao's company will be appreciated on such excursions. At least it will be by Xichen. 

The thought of that coming to pass is bittersweet, the pang opening a cavern in his stomach. No matter, he offers a firm nod in the hope that the day Meng Yao speaks of will occur.

“I still dance as well, on my own when I am able,” Meng Yao concludes with a fading smile, “Though that is less enjoyable than it used to be.”

Xichen can guess why. He recalls the way Wen Ruohan had watched Meng Yao when he danced in front of all of them. Then the rove of his hands after. It brings a scowl to his lips, one he tries to banish with physical distraction.

Now that the question has been answered and the conversation laid to rest, Xichen reaches for a piece of fruit. It's a round citrus fruit, painstakingly peeled – perhaps even by Meng Yao, The meat offers just the slightest of rewarding resistance for his teeth, the taste so forbiddingly sweet that it feels wrong to enjoy it. He pauses in chewing, and swallows it whole instead.

Seemingly noticing the sudden shift, Meng Yao frowns, “Is the food not to your liking?”

“No, it is fine. Too good, actually.”

It must be his tone, or perhaps the expression on his face, but Meng Yao softens. He looks down at the sheer variation of food, huffing, “Yes, I suppose you have not eaten like this in a while. But I did bring it for you. Do you really want me to get into trouble sneaking it back into the kitchen?”

He means it as a joke, and at first Xichen does give a ghost of a smile. But then it suddenly hits him just how much trouble Meng Yao could get in if he’s traced back to here. He has contemplated the risk of his visit of course, but it strikes like lighting now. 

“How are you able to do all this?” Xichen asks abruptly, the ‘why’s’ unspoken but present nevertheless, “What if you get caught? Wen Ruohan will think you and I both implicit in plans against him.”

The lines around Meng Yao’s eyes tighten in bitter mirth, “Is that not what we are doing?”

Xichen pauses at that, chin jerking like he was slapped. Meng Yao waves a hand, “I am sorry. I did not mean to insinuate that I would let you take the fall. I am here because I know it is safe. I will never stay beyond that time. You needn’t worry.”

Not let him take the fall. A twinge wriggles in Xichen’s stomach as he takes Meng Yao in, who looks so very _very_ tired. The bruises on his neck have not vanished, if anything there is more than before. But not just bruises – there seems a drag of cuts or perhaps burns edging into his collar. When Xichen guides his eyes down, he sees the same signs on Meng Yao’s wrists – only visible because the other has reached for another piece of fruit. Little slivers and rings of disfigured skin, risen like burrows in the dirt. Some are certainly burns, but others are more indecipherable.

Xichen reaches out only to take his hand back just as quickly, and the injured look on Meng Yao’s face is enough to make him instantly regret resisting the urge.

“Of course I worry, Meng Yao,” Xichen says to ameliorate, “You say you can’t leave even if you wanted to, but that doesn’t mean you need to be doing this. Taking such risks. You’re not a Sect Leader, you’re just a civilian in all this.”

As much as seeing the hurt in his expression stings, the utter dispelling of sentiment that takes its place sears more. Were it not for the telltale curl of his fingers into fists, Meng Yao might have gone blank. 

“If you would rather not see me, Zewu-Jun, you need just say so,” he stamps out slowly, “Whether I see you or not won’t change what I am doing. I may be a civilian, but I am not gutless. Wen Ruohan must be stopped. You have seen but a taste of what he’s capable of. What he’s planning. If you only knew…”

The trail of his words mingled with a tight-lipped expression conveys just how tenuous his control over his emotions is. Xichen is driven by the need to break this mask of his – to dig down to how Meng Yao is truly feeling, lest he shatter when Xichen is not here to help him collect the pieces.

He is genuine about this, wanting to _help_ , even if Xichen is unsure about the way he’s going about it. It's true he said he's not doing this alone, but Xichen knows what it's like to not want to break under pressure. He's intimately familiar with the price of being strong in front of others.

“You’re right,” he says, voicing what’s on his mind in the same way he wants Meng Yao to, “I shouldn't have said you're just a civilian. You're not a mere _anything._ But you're right. I don't know what Wen Ruohan is planning. I am left in the dark, stuck in this gilded cage. And I am not coping well.”

He draws in a prickly breath, “You're doing this with or without my blessing, and while I'm stuck here, I can at least help you. Can't I? So let me in.”

Meng Yao’s eyelids flutter closed for but a moment, but it feels like minutes. When they reopen, they are cored with guarded appreciation, “You ask for more than you realize. You are burdened enough as it is. I am fine.”

The hint of honesty tied off with an impossible truth – being _fine_ in this place – draws a disbelieving huff, but Xichen curbs the sour sentiment, “Regardless, when you need to talk, I will be here.”

With a blink, Meng Yao's gaze melts with a welcome tinge of warmth. He nods, words so sincere they settle neatly under Xichen's skin, “I will keep that in mind.”

Suddenly, there is a piece of apple place in front of his mouth. Meng Yao nudges it forward encouragingly, “Now eat?”

Xichen glances down at the fruit hovering in the air, lip twitching with an absent smile. He accepts the slice, leaning forward to take it. He only looks at Meng Yao after a few moments, thinking he sees Meng Yao abruptly look down. 

They dine in silence, the easiness of quiet space between them smoothing any remaining edges of tension; a much needed reprieve of mind. He gives no thought to the argument that came prior, nor the reality of their situation. He simply appreciates, taking this moment for the sanctuary it is.


	6. Gifts of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meng Yao and Xichen get to share more time together, though not as often as they would both like.

The next morning, Xichen finally sees his brother. Wen Ruohan announces him with patronizing reassurance, “As I told you; whole and healthy. I do not promise needlessly.”

Lan Wangji looks surprisingly well. His robes are fresh, hair piece polished. His ribbon is the same dirty one he's been wearing, as Xichen's is. So no one removed it, a sign of respect. Boons for cooperation, he's sure.

Meng Yao is correct then – Wen Ruohan takes care of those who have purpose to him. It fills Xichen's lungs with fire, to be kept hale as a bargaining chip. To see his brother being pushed to play puppet to a madman.

But he knows his brother. This won't work, and they will return to routine. Back to coercive pain that also fails its goal; as long as they can keep their spirits up, that is. 

When Xichen is being led out, he takes a moment to examine Wen Ruohan. He recalls Meng Yao's warning – that Xichen has no idea what the man is planning. Indeed, within those ember irises lies conviction. And with a gold gulp of vinegar truth, Xichen acknowledges that more than mere spirit will be needed to endure such untethered ambition.

~~

Xichen is expecting solitude that night. His expectations are delightfully dashed by the gentle push of the door. It could only be Meng Yao with such an entry, and he bears more food as well as a gift. Before delivering the bundle in his hand, he reports on the Nie brothers and Jiang Cheng, seemingly knowing he need not mention Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian. After, his voice changes, nearly boiling over with endearing excitement.

“Scrolls,” Meng Yao explains without really needing to as he offers them, “You can hide them in this.”

He brings out a small, unassuming chest from his qiankun pouch, “No one but you or I will be able to see this.”

With a proud tap of his finger, he shows Xichen the sigils etched into the bottom of the wood. Enchanted; and very cleverly.

“This is quite good,” Xichen says, simplicity complemented by the admiration in his tone.

“The Wen library has many manuals,” Meng Yao shares with a sharp grin. He then holds up a basket of food, “Plainer this time, for you.”

They dine on the rice and vegetables in sanctified silence. The only communication that occurs is when Xichen not so covertly steals glances at the bandages that now cover what must be still healing wounds on Meng Yao's skin. Why he was not wearing them before, Xichen can only guess, but he finds himself wishing he could peek past to see how Meng Yao is faring. At least superficially. Particularly since despite his fairly good mood, his pallor is worse and his movements stilted, likely from fatigue.

After they finish eating, inspired by what Meng Yao is learning in the Wen library, Xichen regales Meng Yao with tales from the Gusu Lan Clan's library pavilion. Although his family is known for manuals and education, they also have stories. In some cases, had stories that is.

“So many are lost now. Beyond what is memorized by our few remaining disciples, as well as my brother and I. But many more have been saved because of you, Meng Yao. Had I been caught, what I smuggled out would have been burned or stolen.”

As it is, the text’s current safety is based off the knowledge that he left them somewhere the Wen Clan won't bother to find before Xichen is able to claim them. He will not entertain the notion of _not_ retrieving them.

Nonetheless, his expression turns sad, a bout of melancholy taking over, “I was not the only one sent away from Cloud Recesses with some of our sacred texts. I chose two inner circle disciples to travel to Qinghe and Lotus Pier. I discovered later that both were turned in by desperate mobs. They were executed.”

Meng Yao listens with respectful attention, forehead crinkling. He does not respond right away, seemingly letting the lives lost exist for but a few more moments before Meng Yao buries them with finite acknowledgment of their sacrifice, “They were loyal to the Lan legacy, and their attempts will not be forgotten. You won't let them be.”

Xichen can only hope that's true. His chin dips merely to rise again a moment later as Meng Yao reaches out to grasp his upper arm. They stare at one another, and the trust in stirring brown eyes has Xichen's mouth dropping, something he doesn't notice until after Meng Yao has pulled his hand away.

They are silent again, for a little while.

“Zewu-Jun, I do have a piece of news. Do you know a rogue cultivator named Song Lan?”

“I know of him, yes. Xiao Xingchen's cultivation partner.”

That said, Xichen is actually not quite sure about how official their partnership is. Either way, they are the closest two cultivators can be – at least they were before Xiao Xingchen ended up in Xue Yang's claws. 

Meng Yao nods, “Song Lan was spotted outside the gates here, about a week ago. It was thought he was trying to sneak in to retrieve Xiao Xingchen. Though that may still be true, there are now rumors he is gathering a force of rogue cultivators to give leadership to remaining Sect disciples. If he is, and if he's as good as his reputation, then we could have an ally on the outside. If it is not true, well, let us hope he can get to Xiao Xingchen before much longer.”

Xichen nods in agreement, having seen sporadic glimpses of the Daozhang. Each time he looks more and more resigned to crawling behind Xue Yang.

“If that is true, perhaps we can get a message to him?” Xichen offers, the need to _do something_ so very great. 

Meng Yao considers, nodding slowly, “Yes, I think with some planning, we could manage that. You will be the one to write, and I to find a snake to slip through the cracks.”

The certainty lights the dark in Xichen. He lets out a coiled breath, one he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Meng Yao adds another hope to the weaving threads, “SiSi left for Yunping a few days ago. I do miss her, but she has taken a large purse for her own use, as well as to free my mother. I made suggestions for places they can retreat to, and she will tell me when they choose one.”

The tentative happiness on Meng Yao's face brings satisfaction to Xichen's antsy veins. He reaches out to cup his fingers gently over Meng Yao's shoulder, nodding, “Then she will be safe and waiting for you when we all escape from here.”

“Yes,” Meng Yao agrees, that hesitant smile slipping into a radiant one. Xichen traces the memory of it before he goes to sleep that night, hoping that there will come the day when the both of them can offer such joy freely.

~~

Naturally, Xichen's room does not have a window. Before being trapped in this place, enjoying an almost constant breeze was something he took for granted. He almost never shut the bamboo shades in his room in the Cloud Recesses, and where he studies is an open space already.

Here and now, in this dank place, the stale air is stifling. Worse than even the loathsome array of furniture. The play at this room befitting a _guest_ rather than what he is, a prisoner, is an intentional barb that becomes more unpalatable the longer he stews here. 

He misses home. He misses his uncle, and even the father he scarcely saw. But getting lost in memories does him no favors. Having Meng Yao break the monotony so many days in a row has been a sorely needed distraction. One that blankets a buzz over his already worn thoughts. 

When will Meng Yao return? 

Any unusual noise outside the locked doors causes him to freeze and perk up, like a deer at the crunch of a leaf. He finds himself watching the entry whenever his stomach starts to void with hungry static, since Meng Yao always brings food. That he's been conditioned should be worrisome but instead it's soothing to have something like a routine.

However Meng Yao does not come. Xichen acknowledges that he has been spoiled by the consistency of his visits, and that of course Meng Yao cannot escape the yoke of his role as often as both of them would like. He must be patient. 

By the time what must be more than a week passes, restless patience becomes sinking dread. Meng Yao is playing a dangerous game, one that could go south at any point. If he were found out, then he will not be visiting again, and it's likely Xichen will never know how he meets his end. It is not a soothing possibility.

To guide himself out of such dark thoughts, he meditates. Other times, he reads some of the scrolls Meng Yao gave him; granted he has read them all dozens of times by now. But nonetheless, he is deep in one when his less keen hearing picks up on murmuring outside his door and then the decisive slide of metal on metal – the lock being undone. 

The gentle, not violent, slide of the door is the final indication, and Xichen throws himself up from where he sits before the door has even swung wide enough to permit the welcome visitor to step through. He doesn't even let himself consider that said visitor could be an unwelcome one.

“A-Yao!” he breathes with every iota of pent-up relief springing free, “I am glad you are safe!” 

The mere sight of Meng Yao makes him feel warmer, and so bright are his eyes that he doesn't take in the details of Meng Yao's appearance right away. Instead he closes the distance between them, holding himself back only when he gets a step away.

“Zewu-Jun,” is the soft reply, the smile in Meng Yao’s voice more apparent than that which is on his face, “I see my absence made you worry. I apologize. I will strive to send a note the next time.”

The next time. Not _if_ there is a next time. The shift from the excitement of knowing Meng Yao has not been discovered to the reminder that the risk won't go away is so drastic, Xichen's face actually aches as it falls.

Meng Yao's own smile disappears only to be reignited in the next second, teeth bared in an effort to move away from such thoughts, “I did at least bring you new scrolls to occupy your time. And dinner?”

Xichen glances down at the familiar basket in his hands. The pleasant upturn to his lips returns and he nods. As they settle at the table, Xichen takes a closer look at Meng Yao. His face strikes a stark, pale beauty framed well by his dark clothes, the hems a shining gold. It's impossible to miss the fact that his skin is flushed. Livelier somehow. But he still wears those bandages at his wrists, another jut on both sides of his neck, closer to his collarbone. 

Meng Yao sets out the food, “I saw Lan Wangji earlier today. He is working with Wei Wuxian still. Slowly. Barely.”

Xichen lets out a sigh, satisfied and concerned all at once. 

“Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang have been less important to the Wen's recently. Same with Jiang Cheng. It's the Jin Sect who has taken their attention.”

Usually that would bode badly for the Jin Clan – the more significant one is to the Wen's, the more they deign to make you hurt. But there's caution to Meng Yao's voice.

Xichen tilts his head, reaching out to grab the chopsticks so he can begin without pause when they are ready to eat. A tic of gratification crosses Meng Yao's cheeks; he seems to take note when Xichen is eager to accept any of his gifts – food in particular.

So when he delivers the next piece of news, he is far more positive than the stir of emotions surely rising in him, “Jin Guangshan has agreed to work with Wen Ruohan. He and the Jin Clan have surrendered and supplicated themselves to his mercy.”

It is both a surprise and not. Now that Wen Ruohan seems to control life and death through Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, of course Jin Guangshan wants to salvage what he can. He has never been one to take risks lightly – as it is, he scarcely fights on the battlefield. Rather, he lets Jin disciples take the forefront. He is the most likely to bow to protect what he's earned, but Xichen is quite sure it won't end the way he wants. He won't gain back what he's lost, not even close.

Xichen nods, setting his jaw into a stern line, “That is to be expected I suppose. Wen Ruohan must be pleased.”

Meng Yao huffs, a brow lifting, “Ecstatic. It is a bit strange, actually. He goes from making Jin Guangshan grovel to speaking with him like they are old friends. And they are, aren't they? Former allies?”

Memories that Xichen has not recalled for a long while drift through his mind. Before the Wen Clan started their war, on the rare occasions Wen Ruohan did happen to show up at Sect conferences, it is true that he spoke with Jin Guangshan the most. 

However, Lan Qiren told Xichen that Sect Leader Wen often tried to speak with Jiang Fengmien. Whether it was a case of respect or attempted manipulation, who can be sure, but Jiang Fengmien did not return the effort. Quite overtly in fact. Xichen’s uncle had thought that played a role in the utter decimation of the Jiang Sect. Just as the Wen's distaste for the Lan Clan's model of purity factored into theirs.

Xichen hums, “I imagine they were as close as their egos allowed.”

Meng Yao nods, pensive but not in a way either of them seems interested in piecing apart.

“And what of you?” Xichen asks now that he has his chance.

“What about me?” Meng Yao responds, drawing his hand back from where he stretched for food – probably thinking they were to start the silence shared between them once actual eating began. 

“Are you... coping?” he clarifies without any of the delicacy he intends. 

The subtle shift of Meng Yao's features tells Xichen some of the answers he desires to know. It's all in the flutter of his eyelashes when he momentarily glances down, the slight tug of his mouth on the right side – so scant it could appear his expression doesn't move at all. But Xichen sees.

Hands folded in his lap, Meng Yao purses his lips, “Jin Guangshan's presence has made things more challenging.”

Xichen was not really asking about his father's effect on him, but Xichen will take any admission Meng Yao wishes to give. 

“Wen Ruohan likes to use my presence as a needle, which is no different from before, but now my father can talk back. He certainly acts like he remembers my mother now, with all the things he says.”

From the tone alone, Xichen can derive a sense of the nasty barbs Jin Guangshan must send his way. He frowns, “Jin Guangshan has been reduced by defeat and surrender. He is snapping at anyone he can still pretend is below him. You know it's not true.”

Meng Yao tilts his head, “Yes. Most of the time.”

Xichen opens his mouth to argue, but Meng Yao shifts the conversation, “But I know that is not what you meant. I am okay, now. It has taken time, but Wen Ruohan trusts me.”

A deliberate breath is drawn as Meng Yao continues, “He lets me listen in on meetings. I can wander when I'm not needed, and I can access some of the most secret places in the Nightless City. It's a question of when I can get you out now, not how. That's all that matters.”

Astonishment bears down on Xichen's face like hooks, mouth dragged down and eyes widening. He is flooded with simultaneous awe and rage, with the former taking momentary precedent. He does not mean to encourage Meng Yao's near suicidal dedication to whatever plan he has, and yet the boldness is contagious. He is so confident, but at what cost?

The thorny admiration is reigned back in, a simmer of concern taking its place. But he will not tell Meng Yao what to do, not when he doesn’t know the details. As he told Meng Yao before – he is stuck here, and in spite of combing through scrolls for any hint of something relevant and keeping himself from surrendering, all he can do is offer his ear.

“More than that matters,” Xichen chides fondly, bitterly, “ _You_ matter. To me, to Sisi. To your mother waiting for you outside these walls.”

He can tell that bringing up Meng Yao’s mother is low blow, but it accomplishes Xichen’s goal. Meng Yao’s fists tighten, gaze going distant in thought withal a counter is quick to his lips, “I do not mean that I don’t matter.”

“Good. Then do me the favor of remembering you are not alone. Whatever you’re going through, I won’t pressure you to tell me,” Xichen assures, “But as I told you before, I will listen when you are ready. And if there is anything I can do, I will. Whatever it takes.”

After a few blinks of Meng Yao’s thick eyelashes, awareness fully returns as he sheds the hollow of his wandering mind. When it does, he seems bolstered with an edge of something distinctly sour.

“One day, I will tell you,” Meng Yao promises, voice not above a whisper and still firm, “I can only hope you do not hate me when that time comes.”

He wants to promise he won't, and though he knows that to be true in his heart, he does not know what Meng Yao feels he has done so wrong. Or what he _has_ done so wrong. 

So instead of giving an empty vow, Xichen holds his jaw tight for a moment before banishing the tension, “War makes beasts of us all, but sharpened teeth is a way of survival, not who you are.”

That elicits a reflective smile that goes from lop-sided to whole. Meng Yao's eyes close for but a beat as he nods. By the time he opens them, Xichen knows it is time for the quiet they both need. So he looks down, occupying himself with savoring the meal Meng Yao brought with his welfare in mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am unfortunately sick again (this time a cold) so the next part might take a little more time than usual. That said, I will try and post 2-3 chapters when I post the next one : )


	7. Sanctuary In Your Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jin Guangshan makes an alliance with Wen Ruohan. Meng Yao talks to Xichen about some of his troubles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends! I am back! 
> 
> Chapters 7-13 are unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine! Feel free to point them out if you see any : )

Xichen sees the betrayal of the Jin’s himself a couple days later, when he is brought to the throne room once more. Jin Guangshan is set up in honor near Wen Ruohan, and they are not alone. The other Sect Leaders are there as well, though no Wei Wuxian for once. Absent also are Nie Huaisang and Lan Wangji. Beyond the Sect Leaders, there is also Wen Ning, standing sentinel just beside Wen Ruohan.

Although Jiang Cheng mutters venom under his breath, it is Nie Mingjue who predictably takes Jin Guangshan’s submission the worst. He does not keep his disdain to himself either.

“How does it feel, Jin Guangshan, sitting up there knowing it's because you're a coward?”

It's a challenge to try and make Jin Guangshan respond, but instead it humors Wen Ruohan. 

“A coward?” Wen Ruohan repeats, “Nie Mingjue, I thought that your time here would have made it clear that you and those like you are the ones worthy of such a title. Coward! Only an undisciplined, thankless mutt would bite the hand that feeds it.”

Wen Ruohan gives a shake of his head, eyes narrowing, “The Wen Clan nurtures all in this land – the Jin Sect has finally accepted that. You would do well to learn from their example. But until then, perhaps…”

He pauses to consider before waving two fingers in the air. Xichen's chest pulses with alarm as Meng Yao emerges. 

He is dressed in gray with threads of unassuming red, and judging from the withering look Jin Guangshan gives him, there is a reason he is not sitting by Wen Ruohan's throne. 

No matter the fact that Jin Guangshan has not claimed Meng Yao as his son, his treatment is reflective on the Jin Sect. So, for now, he has not been made to serve or kneel with his father sitting so close by. A boon. But also a slight, seeing as he has been given a Wen hair ornament and is taking direction from Sect Leader Wen.

Not only that, but he is armed with a short staff, handed to him by a Wen disciple. It's short, but firm, made of black painted bamboo. Meng Yao scarcely looks at the weapon, rather his gaze settles on Wen Ruohan as he waits patiently. The command is wordless, the only indication that Meng Yao understands is a downward tip of his chin as he moves forward. 

Xichen holds his breath as he watches Meng Yao slink like a panther in his cloudy sky clothes, dark hair a crown to the single-minded focus in his gaze. When he stops at Nie Mingjue’s table, his legs snap together, reminiscent of the tail of a cat curling around the spot as if he owns it. 

He’s a living invasion, even reaching out to run teasing fingers along Baxia where it is chained down by its master. The gesture has Nie Mingjue lunging with a snarl. 

A slap rings out, the staff moving quickly enough to knock Nie Mingjue away from his own weapon. That’s the crux of this setup – Nie Mingjue cannot free his saber, but it does sit next to him. Touchable. Unattainable. 

Meng Yao continues to stroke his fingers in tune with the saber’s designs, daring Nie Mingjue with the intrusion.

“If you were to free Baxia, would you not wonder if we had tampered with it?” Meng Yao asks, casual. All the weighted history behind his insinuation is made worse by the fact that even a common person knows of Qishan’s vengeance on the Nie Clan for their supposed hubris. And now this, Nie Mingjue turned into a farce for the entertainment of the family who killed his father. All of them made fools. 

Xichen can see the insult on Nie Mingjue’s face before he says it, flinching just seconds before the outpouring of justified vitriol. 

“We? You, a whore, counting yourself as part of the Wen Sect?”

There is no hint of affront on Meng Yao's one-sided smile, but he is not the target. Rather, Nie Mingjue looks up at Wen Ruohan, waving a hand, “I suppose Wen Chao left a hole only the prostitute son of your enemy could fill?”

Another thwack from the staff, only this time Nie Mingjue's face jerks up. The hit intentionally slices the susceptible flesh of Nie Mingjue's lips, extracting a gradual spill of scarlet.

Despite the reprimand, Nie Mingjue’s words hold strong. It's trifold, reopening a still sluggishly healing wound for Wen Ruohan. The loss of Wen Chao came at a humiliating price for the Wen Clan. Their retainer Wen Zhuliu escaped, though barely. It was he who reported how Wen Chao died, the details of which have been suppressed as much as possible.

But the insinuation that Meng Yao is a replacement for a child has other purposes; a sharp rebuke on the fact that Wen Ruohan so openly uses a prostitute for pleasure and politics. That said prostitute even be allowed to act as Wen Ruohan's hand in the first place – shameful.

Nie Mingjue is Xichen's closest friend. He has been his confidante since even before he became the Nie Sect Leader; although it now feels like eons since before Qishan overstepped their bounds and played Gods. Xichen knows that Nie Mingjue is the last one to hold a person's background against them. 

But a weapon is a weapon, and they are all desperate for knives to sling. 

When Wen Ruohan's head tilts in daring encouragement while he doesn't say a word, Xichen knows it's a trap. One that Nie Mingjue falls into because righteous rage is who he is.

“Claiming the bastard son of your enemy turned ally as one of your own...” he licks his lips and squares his head, staring up with persistent judgment, “Though Jin Guangshan is really more of a servant of yours now, is he not? So you really raised this child above his station. Is Wen blood so thin?”

Meng Yao strikes him again, this time twice. Once on each cheek. Nie Mingjue makes not a sound. It is about the imagery, not the inconsequential pain, of which every prisoner in the room is broadly accustomed to. 

“Loyalty is always rewarded,” Wen Ruohan drawls, managing to sound noble as well as threatening. His gaze glides over Jin Guangshan, the man stiffening at the reminder of what he has agreed to.

“And like your sect boasts,” Wen Ruohan returns to Nie Mingjue, “We give chances based on merit, not merely birth. Or are the Nie Clan foundations so forgettable now that you're properly shackled like your commoner ancestors?”

A sheen of indignation passes like a shiver over Nie Mingjue's expression, “The Nie Clan accepts the worthy. Not those who beg on their backs.”

He turns to peer at Meng Yao once more, “If what you do best passes for _merit_ , then it doesn't take much to impress a Wen.”

Meng Yao smiles, teeth remaining hidden and yet there’s a razor there, “Chifeng-zun, so good to know you've been paying attention to _what I do_. Here I was thinking you were ignoring me all this time.”

To emphasize his words, he reaches out to stroke Nie Mingjue’s cheek tenderly. The gesture incurs an instant recoil just before he bites, and Meng Yao lets him. 

Meng Yao's delicate features twitch. The cause could be pain or satisfaction, seeing as he laughs, “Of course you would bite like a dog. Though I hear that is your favorite insult for your masters?”

Xichen draws in a quiet, hissing breath. He reminds himself that Meng Yao is doing this for show. He doesn’t know Nie Mingjue beyond the stories Xichen has told him – this is not a personal vendetta even if it sounds like he learned exactly what would scrape at Nie Mingjue the most.

Nie Mingjue’s face heats with irritation at the fact that he walked right into that. He grinds down harder before he lets go, yielding ending in the same disappointment that continuing to bite would. No way to win. 

Meng Yao lets his hand hover before he pulls it back. He tilts his chin, considering before slamming the end of his staff down on Nie Mingjue’s hand. Were he closer, Xichen is sure he would hear a disturbing crunch. 

Nie Mingjue doesn’t make a sound. Instead, he grins. In a rapid sequence of movements, Nie Mingjue wraps his much larger hand around Meng Yao’s wrist. He pulls him forward harshly enough to knock him off his feet, and claims the staff himself. Now armed, Nie Mingjue slaps Meng Yao on the cheek the same way he was admonished. Only Sect Leader Nie does not refrain from using his bulk, and Meng Yao very nearly folds.

None of the Sect Leaders are cuffed as they usually are, either an oversight or arrogance, so coincidentally enough Nie Mingjue has freer movement. He must be emblazoned by the absence of his brother, and also tired of being painted as a subdued pet. Meng Yao takes the brunt of that, rightfully so.

The guards do not try to break up the scuffle, rather, they stay back on Wen Ruohan's command. Wen Ning, too, stands unmoving. It is obvious that were any other prisoner to join the fight, Wen Ning would make quick work of them.

Nie Mingjue is much more experienced than Meng Yao, and it shows despite how weary he is. His size alone makes such a fight almost laughable, and withal Meng Yao holds his own. 

Each move is practiced, as though Meng Yao refined a strategy precisely for Sect Leader Nie. Perhaps he did – Xichen would not put it past him. That said, his real advantage is having spiritual energy where Nie Mingjue does not. Even if Nie Mingjue is bigger, though weak from imprisonment, Meng Yao alone retains his Core and its inherent tenacity.

When he manages to get the staff back after letting himself be struck in the side, Meng Yao turns it and aims right at Nie Mingjue's neck. There is a burst that goes with it, a puff of black-tinged air around the staff. It’s an unusual color for energy work, and Xichen takes note of it though his attention is swayed away from the peculiarity.

The petty shot does its’ job, and from there Meng Yao gets Sect Leader Nie on the ground. It’s a remarkable flip on the predictable – small-framed Meng Yao quite literally stepping on Sect Leader Nie’s broad shoulders like a triumphant conqueror. The staff is jabbed so far in Nie Mingjue’s throat that he’s choking, face red and messy hair all the more wild.

“How does it feel, Nie Mingjue?” Meng Yao echoes Nie Mingjue’s earlier insult to Jin Guangshan, “To be under the heel of a whore?”

His smile is slow poison, complemented by Nie Mingjue’s harsh wheezing. Wen Ruohan claps, just once, but the sound ricochets like a blade. To see the physically strongest of them laid underfoot by an unclaimed Jin turned vassal of the Wen is another lesson of inevitability for the Sect Leaders – at least, it is to everyone but Xichen. For him, there are layers too convoluted to untwine, covering his mind with a thick film of nausea.

Even if he knows Meng Yao can do nothing to assure Xichen here, beholden to the stares of others, he tries to make eye contact. Of course he is completely ignored, as he should be, and _still_ the snub cuts. 

~~

“I'm sorry” is how Meng Yao starts his next visit. It has been many days since being forced to watch as he drew the blood of Xichen's closest friend. Considering the frequency of Meng Yao’s last visits to now, Xichen presumes the time in between may not be a coincidence. Meng Yao must think that Xichen’s feelings towards him are in strife.

“You know I have to do what he tells me, no matter what it is,” Meng Yao justifies, somber.

Xichen closes his eyes, shaking his head, but not in argument, “I know A-Yao. I do not blame you. It is simply hard to watch Nie Mingjue suffer, and to see you following Wen Ruohan's orders. But your efforts are clearly working. If I didn't know what you are doing, I would have thought...”

He stops, knowing the lack of words speaks for itself. Meng Yao seems torn between admonishment and pride. In the end he opts for both and then beyond, “It wasn't all a lie. Chifeng-zun made it very easy for me to lose my temper.”

It's a truth Xichen does not find the least bit soothing. He aches to hear it, but he would rather have it confirmed than let the evidence fester in his thoughts. 

A coiled sort of respect for the admission leeches into Xichen's features, “Nie Mingjue does not actually judge the way it seems. He measures the merit of a person by action, and he unfortunately knows you as a Wen. He went for low blows that are usually out of his nature. I hope you will give him the benefit of a second chance when your true role is revealed.”

Meng Yao nods with a tart but treasured laugh, “It is more likely that I will have to win a second chance from him.”

Xichen jerks at that, merely because Meng Yao is probably correct. 

“Chifeng-Zun has every reason to think what he does of me,” Meng Yao continues, “To hate me. He has only ever seen me follow Wen Ruohan's orders, and then some. He sees no other side of me. He does not know what I have done to help you, or all I do to prevent his brother from becoming Wen Xu's personal slave.”

Xichen winces even if the statement must be true. It is impossible to ignore that Nie Huaisang is more of a target due to his soft appearance and his brother’s love for him. Xichen has personally heard Wen Xu's taunts and promises. If Meng Yao is doing something to stop him, then Xichen wishes to acknowledge.

Meng Yao does not let him interrupt though, “But I am not doing it for Chifeng-Zun. Even if he knew, it would not change anything. Sect Leader Nie is so very moralistic, and it seems once his trust is damaged, it is hard to regain. He is surely a terrible enemy to have, and I believe he is mine.”

Xichen cannot argue with that, particularly since he knows Nie Mingjue well. He holds back a scowl, “You may be right. But I will be there to help explain. And with Nie Mingjue, that will make all the difference.”

“Then I will have to ensure I remain close by your side once we are freed,” Meng Yao vows with a hum. The sound vibrates, significant. Even though he is far away, it rumbles pleasantly through Xichen's chest. He is virtually paralyzed by how deep it runs, and all he can do is return a nod.

The desire to thank Meng Yao for his help with Nie Huaisang vanishes; it would feel cheap to bring back up. Instead, his silence becomes the natural moment for Meng Yao to bring out food, as he always does. 

As is routine while they share a meal, Xichen examines Meng Yao closely. What he sees brings apprehension. Meng Yao does not usually wear make up to their meetings, but Xichen can see clear signs of simple powder on his face – especially around his eyes and lips. Spots where he could be hiding bruises. The bandages on his collarbone are gone, but his left hand is completely wrapped up to the very tips of his fingers. What injured him so? Xichen finds himself frowning, and he knows Meng Yao notices.

Perhaps that is why after the meal, Meng Yao distracts Xichen with news.

“I have confirmation that the letter you wrote to Song Lan was received. If he agrees, we have an ally on the outside.”

Xichen wrote it weeks ago, in the hopes that the rumors are true about Song Lan gathering Sect disciples to give them training and guidance. The letter is also intended as a warning, since if they heard, Wen Ruohan must have too. The man will surely not abide any rebels. 

After the news, Xichen is gifted with another set of scrolls. Meng Yao seems particularly excited, and Xichen is compelled to open one up right away. The sheer elegance and color of the scroll strikes him first, a flutter of excitement shooting up from his belly. 

Then he starts to read, eyes widening like the break of dawn. And the way he looks at Meng Yao, he might as well be the lure of the sun. 

“These are Lan scrolls,” Xichen huffs, breathless. The very scrolls he told Meng Yao had been carried by his chosen envoys – the ones who unfortunately lost their lives.

Hands folded meticulously in his lap, Meng Yao leans forward, “Yes. Well, copies to be exact. The Wen Clan did not burn all of them so it seems. I could not chance someone noticing they were gone, but they are yours to keep safe once again. Hopefully the originals can be retrieved in the future.”

As long as the scrolls are not destroyed in the midst of their emancipation. But even if that were to occur, copies are better than nothing. 

“You do the Gusu Lan Clan yet another honor,” Xichen thanks with a smile. 

How much he owes Meng Yao continues to tally up every day. The man is helping the Lan Sect survive – all starting with Meng Yao’s protection of him, then and now. 

Meng Yao gives a humble bow of his head, eyes sparkling with something bright before it is gone a beat later. There is companionable silence for a while as Xichen opens a couple more of the scrolls, doing no more than skimming but happy to have company while he does so. 

The shared moment is interrupted by a comment so uncharacteristically grave that Xichen snaps to attention right away. 

“You said I could tell you anything, when the time came.”

“Of course,” Xichen soothes without hesitation, though his stomach swirls with sour foreboding, “What is it?”

Despite having asked to share, Meng Yao looks away. His fingers clutch his purple and brilliant gold robes so tight he may be digging nails into his own skin even through the thick material.

“It's becoming harder to keep myself grounded when I am with Wen Ruohan,” mouth shaping intentionally over each syllable, like he's wrenching the confession from some locked box inside him.

“It used to be like any other job. Fooling someone into thinking they are wanted. Of course he's dangerous, I can never forget that, but I still treated this like a high stakes job.”

Meng Yao looks away then, “But Wen Ruohan doesn't _want_ to be fooled. As every powerful man, he wants more control. He wants to crush those he sees as below him, and dominate potential equals.”

There are nerves lighting parts of Meng Yao that Xichen has never seen. The man even worries his lip between his teeth, something he has never seen before. The mere sight cracks open Xichen's ribs and nestles a tundra inside; one that only grows colder the more Meng Yao speaks.

“He knows I am playing a game. He's aware I want something in return. He doesn't know my real end, but I cannot hide everything from him. He likes to give me rewards, but only after pushing me over an edge. Every day he pushes me.”

It's obvious that Meng Yao is foregoing details. As much as Xichen understands why, and even doesn't want to hear so his imagination won't run wild, he knows full well how cathartic it is to not be the only one who knows about something. Meng Yao needs to not feel alone. At least, Xichen won't _allow_ him be alone in this.

“You can tell me what he's doing, Meng Yao. I am on your side. How is he pushing you?”

“He...” Meng Yao pauses, gathering himself in a way he normally never does. Xichen reaches out, folding his hand over Meng Yao's clenched fingers. He tries to pull away, but Xichen doesn't let him – the touch isn't unwanted, he can see that etched stark on Meng Yao's face. 

What he does not expect is the deep sigh that rends through Meng Yao, all but making him bow so his forehead is near Xichen's shoulder. He is a shade away from shuddering, “The fact that you still touch me, even while knowing what I do. What Wen Ruohan does. You do not know how much it means to me.”

Xichen holds a breath in his throat as if it were all his emotions, and squeezes Meng Yao's unbandaged hand tighter. The man tenses, and Xichen thinks he must imagine the sob that leaks so quietly from Meng Yao's lips.

“If you knew everything, I do not think you would be so kind with your touch,” Meng Yao whispers, teetering closer to Xichen's shoulder. It feels like an unintentional plea, one Xichen is all too happy to answer.

“Wouldn't I?”

He tilts his shoulder inward, free hand reaching out to smooth over Meng Yao's hair while he guides him to his shoulder. Meng Yao doesn't so much as resist, rather gliding like a bird from a branch. Although the nest of Xichen's shoulder cannot be the most comfortable, Meng Yao is so overtly appreciative that an odd trill stirs in Xichen's stomach at the sight. 

“Zewu-jun,” Meng Yao says with a breath that almost sounds like a prayer, “The things your allies have seen. The things I have done to get where I am. I should be ashamed, but I am not. I refuse to let Wen Ruohan, or anyone, have my pride.”

Xichen finds himself brushing his fingers gently through Meng Yao's hair while the man works his way through the tangle of his own thoughts.

“There is so much I can't bring myself to tell you. But you are still the only one who will be able to judge me fairly in the end. And I am grateful for you.”

Xichen opens his mouth only to huff when Meng Yao's hand crawls out from under his own. He frowns, warm hand abruptly far too chilled, but then Meng Yao wraps his palm back around. Lithe fingers trace along the creases of Xichen's own, the gesture decidedly admiring.

Meng Yao says no more. Xichen is tempted to let quiet reign, but he pushes himself to make one last comment before he treasures this opportunity to hold Meng Yao – something he did not think he would get the chance to do again.

“I am glad you trust me enough to tell me you are struggling. Whatever it is that Wen Ruohan is making you do, if it is to keep his confidence, then that is for our freedom. For _everyone's_ freedom. I will judge you only in lives saved. And my brother's and mine will be two of them. So rest easy, at least in this moment.”

He lets that sit for a bit before dipping his chin so his cheek grazes the braids in Meng Yao's hair, “I confess, I am glad to have you in my arms again. And I hope that as before, this comfort helps you as it helps me.”

Meng Yao makes a subdued, content noise that sinks into Xichen's very bones. Heat melts the ice in his belly and dances along his cheeks. It is a good thing Meng Yao cannot see his face, for he would look quite the fool.


	8. Xichen and Meng Yao's Calm Before The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wen Ruohan loses his patience with Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji. Meng Yao and Xichen's sanctuary is disturbed.
> 
> Warnings: Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine. If you catch anything, don't hesitate to let me know!

A few days after Meng Yao finally opens up to him, Xichen's routine of comparative painlessness returns to what he had grown used to before the awakening of Wen Ning. When Wen Ruohan did not have a personal interest in Lan Wangji.

Apparently, his brother and Wei Wuxian have failed Wen Ruohan too many times. So Xichen is brought to persuade them; specifically to persuade his brother, but that in turn will torment Wei Wuxian. 

After all, like Xichen, Sect Leader Wen is fully aware of the connection between Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian even if the cultivation world thinks them bantering, circumstantial allies. Wen Ruohan is too smart a man to believe such gossip. He heard Wei Wuxian's shout when Lan Wangji was struck by Wen Xu during the failed Sunshot Campaign. He saw the way Wei Wuxian froze, and took advantage of it; as he is doing again now.

Xichen is merely thankful that it is not Meng Yao who teases cries from his clenched jaw. Rather, it is Wen Rouhan himself, slicing slivers of skin from Xichen's joints. He does not bring out the whip, seemingly knowing that punishment is getting stale. Knives and fire are enough to stir Xichen into a shuddering mess of gasps and bitten off pleas. 

“Don't let them win,” is his mantra when he does manage to speak beyond the embarrassing groans culled from him. 

Lan Wangji is silent during most of it, but Wei Wuxian promises to give Wen Ruohan someone else like Wen Ning so Lan Wangji's face must have broken.

Once Xichen's tired skin is finally left to rest, it is bittersweet. He hopes Wei Wuxian is lying about providing another aware half-corpse soldier even though Xichen wants very much not to be used as a pawn again. 

~~

Wen Qing sees to his wounds, as she does almost every time he needs healing. She does not speak much anymore, not even to give orders about where Xichen should move his hand or if he should hold his breath while she applies ointment. The professional compassion has been bound under the duress of self-preservation. 

Xichen finds himself wondering what kind of person she would have been had she not been taken in by the Wen Clan. Probably a conscientious one; still unwavering but kind, with her mind always nestled in the welfare of her family and friends. It is too bad she has never been given a chance to spread her wings.

The thought occupies him enough to get through the stinging pain of her ministrations, but the rumination brings his mood down to such pits that he finds himself trapped in the notion that they won't escape. They can't. How can they win against a man who keeps them separated and chained by their hearts?

He is locked in miserable hopelessness when Meng Yao visits him. The man treads carefully, seemingly aware of the physical pain Xichen is in, though he cannot be aware of how deep it runs. Or, perhaps Xichen's silence tells Meng Yao all he needs to know about the dredge of his spiraling thoughts.

“Lan Xichen,” Meng Yao sighs more than says as he sinks down next to him. He places an arm over his back, avoiding the clear marker of bandages at finger points of his body. Wen Qing had not put Xichen's outer robes back on, and his arms are too sore to bother straining himself to cover up. Propriety scarcely matters in a prison, and Meng Yao has surely seen worse so Xichen doesn't give it much thought.

Although Xichen is splayed a bit uncomfortably, Meng Yao corrals him so he can slump against his chest. It's not the most agreeable angle, but it does allow Xichen to close his eyes and focus strictly on Meng Yao. On the anchoring pulse of his heart and cycle of his breath.

As much as it’s a bit pathetic that he has Meng Yao’s robes bunched in his hands while he tries to reign himself back in, there is not an ounce of shame in this moment. Without Meng Yao, the buzz of ill thoughts would be at the forefront. With him here, it is the scent of him; a spice so thick it's warming. It's the sensation of him, the trust that there is no judgment, only understanding. After all, just days prior, he was the one doing this for Meng Yao.

Xichen's back shudders with a few rattling spasms, and then he rests. Eventually the fog in his mind peters out to the far clearer leyline that is Meng Yao's grip on him. Xichen flits his gaze over, suddenly realizing something.

“You called me Xichen,” he says dumbly, mouth staying parted like he wants to speak more even if he has no intention to.

Meng Yao gives a firm nod, “Yes. I thought by now you would not be upset if I did.”

Tears prick at Xichen’s eyes. The stinging warmth they offer is an achievement over what brought him to this point – that being stress and the fear that nothing will ever be joyous again. This is a new kind of joy that he and Meng Yao have found together.

There is still no name for it, whatever this is. Xichen is content with that. If they were to acknowledge it, perhaps it would go up in smoke as so many other things have. Better to experience than to risk losing it.

“No, not upset,” he sighs, “I am glad. Perhaps soon I will tell you my birth name well.”

~~

Xichen finds himself often thinking of Meng Yao’s comfort to keep his faith strong. It has been days, and he has seen his brother once – when Wei Wuxian failed to raise another corpse to the level of Wen Ning. The occasion leaves Xichen’s throat raw from screaming and his eyes tired from crying. Watching his brother be hurt is not something he can easily abide. 

Wen Ruohan promises that one of them will break next time, or Wei Wuxian will have to raise the corpse of Lan Wangji instead. It is hopefully an empty threat but Xichen is no less sensitive and prickly. He is on that edge when Meng Yao comes to see him hours later.

Meng Yao’s expression is taut, hair unbraided except for a small portion wrapped in a bun under a simple coronet. Otherwise it falls free around the makeup still on his face; the second time he has left such traces of his performance for Wen Ruohan. His clothes are a bit unusual as well, the robe thinner than usual, colors entirely muted. Even appearing more unraveled than typical, when he speaks it is with confidence.

“It is nearing the end, Xichen, I promise. Wen Ruohan won't have the chance to hurt Lan Wangji.” 

It is a lofty pledge. Xichen wants nothing more than to give up his despair and trust but it is not easy. After all, Meng Yao's plan is dubious as is, and Xichen doesn't even have a role to play. 

“I don't see what you see,” he admits, “I _do_ believe you, but what are you planning? Can’t you tell me?”

Meng Yao bows his head as he rests on his knees which are brushed up against Xichen. This seems to be routine now, and Xichen quite hopes it continues that way. 

However, when Meng Yao doesn't say anything in response to his question, something frail shatters in his chest. Like his strings have been cut, Xichen falls right into Meng Yao's lap. He doesn't sob, his breath doesn't even heave. He is utterly still.

He anticipates Meng Yao’s hand, but he gets more than he expects when his body folds over Xichen’s in return. His head lays at the low point of his back while Meng Yao strokes his side sedately.

Xichen still doesn't move but he does offer a shudder of comfort. Meng Yao takes this for the permission it is, and his hands start to rove a little more. There are injuries there, but Meng Yao seems to know where to press and where not. He does touch older scars, and though Xichen would have guessed he doesn't want them explored, Meng Yao is so reverent in his ministrations that another sigh trickles from his lips. Finally, his fingers smooth up to the nap of Xichen's neck, dragging his nails across the lingering hair there before slipping under and rolling smooth circles. 

“I'm going to keep you safe,” is all Meng Yao says. 

Of course Xichen wishes he could return the favor, but that is not the position either of them are in. He accepts the declaration for the mere hope it is.

They stay like this for countless minutes. When Xichen finally straightens his back, he grunts at the faint blush of blood on his back and chest, the cuts having reopened. But it doesn't matter. He found needed isolation from these four walls in Meng Yao’s embrace.

“I can see you're in no mood to eat,” Meng Yao notes, intentionally moving them past the moment they just shared, “Put this in the chest for later.”

Meng Yao hands him a small container, likely containing vegetables, before he stands to leave. The sound of the door closing is what finally stirs him to rise, going to place the food in the only part of this room that's truly his. 

He's about to unlatch the lid of the chest gifted to him by Meng Yao when he hears commotion; the groan of the dead guarding outside his door, normally made quiet by a technique Meng Yao says he learned from Wen Ruohan. Then the death keel of someone very human. Xichen's heart leaps into his throat, but he hears Meng Yao's placating tone shortly after, so he knows it’s not him. 

Meng Yao smashes through the door then, the tumble of his robes calling back to a time when Xichen was the one hiding in plain sight, and Meng Yao the rebel concealing him. Unlike before, it is not some trite boy that has pushed him. It's Wen Xu, and there is joy springing from his twisted expression. The kind he wears when wielding a hot poker, or after he has coddled a scream from Xichen's dry throat. 

Meng Yao is quick to recover. There is blood dribbling from his nose but otherwise he looks unhindered. Calm, with palms out, “You misunderstand, Wen-gongzi.”

“What can I possibly misunderstand from this?” Wen Xu grins, “My father's prize experiment, in the room of a traitor? Finally a reason to remind you of your place!”

So similar to the hate spouted by that bully from the brothel. Meng Yao truly does have this effect on insecure people. But this time it is not a child's jealousy; this is deadly. Xichen may be without direct access to his core, and utterly weak in comparison to Wen Ruohan's heir, but he won't let Meng Yao stand alone. 

However, as he moves closer Meng Yao steps away, toward Wen Xu instead.

“Your father is fully aware of my visits to Zewu-Jun. I can hide nothing from him, you know that. Do not presume to know Wen Ruohan's mind.”

At that, Xichen stops. Bewilderment turns his veins to sludge, the sentiment creeping up to drag his jaw down. He suddenly doesn't know how to feel – whether to defend Meng Yao or be defensive himself. Does Wen Ruohan truly know? And if he does, why does he let this happen? Is Meng Yao here to act as a spy, and if so what could he possibly hope to learn?

He stares at Meng Yao, hoping there is some other explanation or that he's lying to get under Wen Xu's skin.

“Your tricks won’t work on me, snake,” Wen Xu snaps, not believing the threat. 

Xichen is torn between hoping he's right, and wishing that at the very least, Wen Xu had been driven to doubt. That way he would stop advancing on Meng Yao with such thirst in every line. 

“My father would never let you come here; you're _his_ , and he doesn't share. Not when he's not here to command you,” Wen Xu’s tone is unwavering, “And especially not with a Jade. Your payment would never be so high.”

The mention seems to remind Wen Xu that Xichen is there, twisting on him with immediate intention. Suddenly Meng Yao is in between them.

“You shouldn't,” he manages to make it sound like a sensible suggestion rather than anything remotely like a demand, “You know Wen Ruohan has plans for Zewu-”

He's interrupted as Wen Xu wraps his entire hand around Meng Yao's face. He grounds delicate features under his palm as he literally tosses him aside, relish in his lilt, “Shut up.”

The ease at which Wen Xu's strength wins out is almost comedic, were it not for the chilling reality of it all. Xichen's gaze stays on Meng Yao as he falls for but a moment before he considers his own position. He is powerless, but he does have martial experience. Were it simply hand to hand he might have a chance. But it is not so simple. Xichen is a prisoner, shackled without chains, and his hemmed in energy cannot help him here. 

Thankfully Wen Xu does not use his sword. He aims a fist and though Xichen blocks, the energy laden strike rattles his defense. He does not break yet. It takes another hit and a fling of sheer power to bring him to bow. Seeing as Wen Xu need only wrap energy ropes around him and Xichen would be debilitated, this play at a fight is all for fun. He even lets Xichen get an attempt at striking back before pushing him down shortly after. 

The predictable cut of ropes wrap around his wrists and ankles. He buoys himself on his knees to keep his torso upright, a hard-won triumph against the wriggle of unsteady legs.

Wen Xu is right there, collar in his grip to ensure that Xichen cannot look away, “Pretty Lan Xichen. Wouldn't have thought you the even-prettier-boy type. Does he make you feel less hopeless? Is he a good distraction? I have been told his mouth is very compelling.”

Xichen's face twists in disgust and indignation, an immediate refusal flying to his lips before he can even think about it, “I am a Lan.”

They have rules. Celibacy until marriage, or at least commitment. But that is not really the crux of it; it is merely the most instinctual response. 

The true source of bitterness is that to so basely describe who Meng Yao is to Xichen is an insult to what they share. Meng Yao saved his life. Protected him, and is trying to do so again, no matter the factors involved. They see each other as who they are, at their lowest, leashed by the motivation to survive. Meng Yao deserves better than to be reduced to a _thing_.

Wen Xu could not possibly understand. He is emotionally limited, not to mention there is plenty for him to draw from this situation. Some worse than others, and on the scale of what comes next, the affront to their connection is nothing. 

“A Lan. Yes. You're plotting together then. We know you're a traitor, and all who support you,” he concludes, the evidence before him linking the inference to its obvious end. Wen Xu looks far too happy about it, white teeth bared in vicious delight. He stands suddenly, yanking Xichen to his feet. 

The movement finally jars him into speaking, “He is not a traitor! This is personal.”

Both a lie and a truth. But no matter, Wen Xu ignores him. He tugs Xichen’s elbows up so the bonds around his wrist can be slung into the hook sloping down from the low ceiling. It’s a position he’s dreadfully familiar with, and he knows how best to handle it. 

Initially, he can keep his joints steady, but the more tired he gets the harder it will be not to sink down. Almost each time he’s been held like this, tortured for information or out of sheer boredom, his joints have been strained to popping.

Wen Xu's gaze meets his, sharp with ruthless suspicion. Then he turns around, attention abruptly shorn. Xichen wishes he would look back, since watching him ascend on Meng Yao is far crueler.

Meng Yao is standing again, shoulders bent down and mouth parted in contrition, “Please. We should go to your father.”

Wanting to see Wen Ruohan rather than face his son is damning. Sect Leader Wen’s retribution will be final. With Wen Xu, he doesn't dare permanently hurt either one of them, not without Wen Ruohan's permission. The fear that Meng Yao is playing a more layered game than Xichen could ever guess flashes over him again.

Whether Meng Yao’s double crossing is a lie or not, Xichen starts to understand why there’s a preference for Wen Ruohan's judgment when Wen Xu starts to taunt, “Loyal Yao. My father's favorite toy. Not as obedient as we thought. You know that means you don’t have his protection anymore?”

“I do, Wen Xu, I am still his,” Meng Yao insists.

The defense causes Xichen to wince, the truth of it tumultuous but sound. Still not compelling enough though.

Wen Xu cuffs Meng Yao across the cheek, the snap of his neck staggering but controlled. He still doesn't appear scared. More nervous than unstable.

His composure doesn't convince Wen Xu. He surges forward and grabs the coil of Meng Yao's hair bun. His other hand crushes the red and gold ornament on top, using the leverage to pull the man to and fro, berating the whole while, “Stop lying! He'll thank me for interrogating you. You know how we get our answers.”

Meng Yao suddenly dips, vanishing from Xichen's direct view. When his brain catches up and he looks down, it's clear Wen Xu has kicked Meng Yao's legs out from under him. He strikes him hard in the stomach, resulting in a quiet croak but nothing more. Wen Xu breathes out in annoyance and braces a foot down on Meng Yao's throat.

“I forgot about your _special_ resilience to pain,” he observes slyly, simultaneously impressed and annoyed, “Can you hold your breath as well as you can hold your tongue?”

Xichen feels like he’s missing some insinuation here, but he supposes after so long with Wen Ruohan, Meng Yao possesses quite the tolerance for pain.

Fingers scrabble at the fabric shielding Wen Xu’s leg, disappearing under the material presumably to dig in proper. It is counterproductive, to take away Meng Yao’s ability to speak when ‘interrogating’ him, but Wen Xu has a vendetta. That much is clear from the way he studies Meng Yao as his face turns red and veins bulge.

“He must breathe to talk,” Xichen snaps anyways, unable to stay silent. There is not much else he can do.

Wen Xu laughs, face twisting into that all-encompassing smile of his as he looks over his back at Xichen, “Does he now? I guess you’re right.”

He pushes his foot harder, earning a wet crunch from Meng Yao’s gaping mouth, but then he takes the pressure away. Coughs absolutely wrack Meng Yao's body as he shakes with the sheer force of gulping air in. By the time he gets himself under control, there are tears wetting his cheeks.

Wen Xu starts to kick again. Xichen winces with every hit, though there is a remarkable lack of reaction on Meng Yao’s part.

“Stop,” Xichen hears himself saying under his breath, repeating it more loudly, “Stop!”

Of course he's ignored though he still continues, “You haven't even asked any questions!”

“I have all the answers I need right here.”

Xichen's stomach swirls from the brazen excitement oozing off Wen Xu’s tone.

He is unsure how many kicks it takes for something audible to crack. Meng Yao makes a sound like the waning crow of a bird shot out of the sky. His body reflexively curls in a half moon, consequently arcing around Wen Xu. At his mouth, Xichen can see a spatter of blood. 

Wen Xu hums, ever smug, “There, I like you better now. Though, nothing will quite be better than the sight of you wheezing at my feet.”

“Of course you do,” Meng Yao agrees, rasping yet still miraculously articulate, “Though I am surprised you like the sound of anything over your own voice.”

He follows up so quickly that any earned indignation has no time to unfurl, “Wen Xu, he gave you an order. If you go as far as I know you want to, it won't just be me who is punished.”

The sneer on Wen Xu’s face shifts sides by the time he's done scrutinizing, “Your concern for me is touching. But just because you're scared of my father doesn't mean I am. You underestimate me because you think he's worse. You're right, but you forget.”

Abruptly, Wen Xu shoves Meng Yao's head to the ground with the flat of his foot. Not to the side, seemingly wanting Meng Yao to look up as he rubs his heels into his face.

“I am a Wen too. And Wen's know their enemies, whatever it takes to dismantle them, inside and out,” voice slipping in oil, “And I _despise_ you, Meng Yao. So I've watched you.”

Wen Xu crouches down, reaching out to grab Meng Yao's cheeks and bring him close, “You pretend to be a coy little whore, but in reality you hate it. You hate being owned, being controlled. My father thinks it's amusing – you being so _very_ good at playing submissive while you've got so much self-importance. You know better than I how much he likes to slap you down.”

Wen Xu tilts his head, “It's a good exchange, isn't it? Someone so powerful, deigning to let you roam and practice like you're a disciple, and all you have to do is open your legs and do as he says. But I am not my father. I'm not going to give anything back.”

The dawning comprehension in Meng Yao's fraught expression gets murkier.

“Please, not in front of him,” spills so quickly from his parted lips that it can be nothing but honesty. 

Xichen's heart starts to tatter and lift into his throat. 

Such sincerity is dangerous – it lets Wen Xu in on how frightening this is for Meng Yao. So surely it is a slip of tongue. A mistake.

One Wen Xu evidently enjoys, the heat in his laughter belying his growing desire, “Oh, but that's most of the fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter contains graphic rape/non-con so FEEL FREE TO SKIP to Chapter 10 if you would rather not read that.


	9. To Them We Are Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wen Xu has found out about Meng Yao and Xichen's visits to one another, and draws his own conclusions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains graphic rape/non-con and graphic violence so feel free to SKIP to Chapter 10 if you do not want to read this!
> 
> This chapter is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine. If you catch anything, don't hesitate to let me know!

** Read Warnings **

The dawning comprehension in Meng Yao's fraught expression gets murkier.

“Please, not in front of him,” spills so quickly from his parted lips that it can be nothing but honesty. 

Xichen's heart starts to tatter and lift into his throat. 

Such sincerity is dangerous – it lets Wen Xu in on how frightening this is for Meng Yao. So surely it is a slip of tongue. A mistake.

One Wen Xu evidently enjoys, the heat in his laughter belying his growing desire, “Oh, but that's most of the fun.”

Wen Xu shoves the smaller man back as he stands up, stepping directly onto Meng Yao's leg as he moves behind him. The action is excessive at the same time it's practical to keep Meng Yao from scrambling away. When Wen Xu slides down so his front is facing Meng Yao's back, he keeps his eyes trained on Xichen. 

The intention to be found in that dark gaze throws Xichen's mind into disarray. He knows what this all means, he's not stupid, and yet it all seems too surreal. In the chaos of his thoughts, he clings to a rather silly sensory fact – that he is finally starting to feel prickles of true stress on his arms from how he's hanging. 

Wen Xu gathers a struggling Meng Yao to his chest, crossing over his shoulders to work at the flimsy robe even while he bucks. Why is he even wearing that thing? He's never worn something so simple before, there being only one layer.

“This robe alone, Meng Yao. You came from my father's room, didn't you?” Wen Xu chides, answering Xichen's question, “So dirty! Did you touch Lan Xichen with your unwashed hands?”

Xichen's temper flares, “He is not dirty! He is… my friend.”

Friend. It sounds lackluster even to him, and he’s not even sure why he said it. They are not mere friends. They are a nameless in between. But things feel nebulous in a different way now. Does Wen Ruohan really know Meng Yao has been visiting? Xichen stares, vision blurry even as the two are a stone's throw away.

Wen Xu laughs, “Friend?! He is risking my father's rage for you... If he has permission to see you, he must have paid for it. If he didn't, then this will be the end of him. Must be some friendship, Zewu-Jun.”

Guilt leeches from his pores as the words sink in. Just minutes ago, Xichen was re-revaluating his faith in Meng Yao's plans. To doubt him like that after all he's done, and the _price_ he's constantly paying in order to both stay alive and be in a position to help... Shame settles in a slimy layer over Xichen's conscience. 

“It is,” Xichen replies in spite of his moment of weakness, reiteration strong enough that Wen Xu pauses to blink. Meng Yao meets his eyes for a moment, expression transparent and sorely endearing.

“Good,” Wen Xu chuckles, “Then this will be as fun as I hoped.”

They both flinch. They understand how sadistic Wen Xu is. To hurt Meng Yao like this is to hurt Xichen. What fun for Wen Xu, the monster. Like father like son, with how he uses other’s compassion to his advantage. 

Meng Yao’s gray robes are open, the snake-scale hems tucked to the sides to expose skin. For weeks, Xichen has seen bandages wrapped up his wrists and arms – they disappeared about a week prior but appear to have gone as far as his chest since there are puckered scars, both raw and healed, as well as burns all over.

“What will it take for you to stop?” Meng Yao asks while he endeavors to stop Wen Xu from peeling his clothes off.

Wen Xu traces the scars and burns on his chest with probing fingertips, tongue excitedly peeking out of his mouth, “You don't have anything to bargain with that I can't just take. So how much does he know, little Yao? About these markings?”

Xichen does not mean to play into his hands, to be curious, but he _is._ What does Wen Xu mean?

“He knows nothing,” Meng Yao breathes than more than states, a rattle of fear in his pinched eyes that looks very different from the tactful snarl on his lips. It must drive the offer that follows, “You think I have nothing you can't take, but I have entertained Wen Ruohan longer than any before me. Let me show you why.”

Even borne out of resignation, the way his tongue wraps around each syllable imbues an impressive weight to the very air, “I'll scream for you. I'll beg and cry. It will be real too – you know I don't want you. But not here. Take me to your room.”

It's painful to watch Meng Yao denigrate himself like this; including the reminder that his pain is more appealing to Wen Xu than anything else. But if there's even a chance it could work, to save both of them from witnessing this, Xichen knows Meng Yao has to try. Desperation is a cruel beast.

It comes as no surprise when Wen Xu refuses with a contented “No.” He then pushes Meng Yao down into an awkward bend, wrenching his robe from his left arm followed by his right.

Stinging air rushes into Xichen's lungs at the sight of Meng Yao's back. Scratches, so many of them, some in directions that don't even make sense. Also inhumanely deep bites and what look like bruises from an instance or two of caning. At the very least, he has been well fed, and there is no emphasis of emaciated bones. But Meng Yao's comparative health almost makes it worse. To think, he's been covering up these wounds every time Xichen has seen him.

Xichen can't look away, and Wen Xu seems to want that. Meng Yao lays without fighting, palms braced on the ground. Wen Xu digs his finger into one of the indents lefty by someone's molar. Must be Wen Ruohan's since the man doesn't _share_ so Wen Xu says.

“Look at how many bites he has taken from you… And you think I want your special attention?” Wen Xu chuckles, “But I suppose a whore can only be a whore, right? So good try.”

A spike of embarrassment drenches the air. Xichen rears at it, “You're the one who invited prostitutes in the first place; who is really the desperate one?”

Wen Xu's violent eyes flicker back up to Xichen's, clearly not pleased with the reminder that Meng Yao's presence is partially his doing. He leans up, putting a knee on Meng Yao's spine while he straightens his own back. Merely keeping the connection stops Xichen from looking away while Wen Xu removes his outer robes to throw aside. 

No words are exchanged between them even when Wen Xu lifts Meng Yao’s hips up. He yanks his legs back with a loop around Meng Yao’s thighs. As a result, he slopes downward, on his knees. He would be facing Xichen, were it not for the fact he's not looking.

Rather, Meng Yao's eyes are tightly crunched, head bowed. He scrabbles to get his quivering hands under him. He looks so small, being manhandled like this. His body seems to know when and how to drop, pure muscle memory. 

The sight of it hurts a spot in Xichen that he didn't even know he still had after all this time with the Wen's. Of course Wen Xu would discover a way to make him hurt differently. Meng Yao too, the hastening crumble of his composure making it clear he doesn't have a contingency plan for this.

Wen Xu removes the sash holding up Meng Yao's silk pants, letting them fall. A shudder rends down Meng Yao's spine. His fingers claw into the ground as he tries to pull away again. Wen Xu's hand snakes around his chin, thick fingers jabbing into his mouth. 

“Suck,” he orders, still watching Xichen, “Or I'll take you dry. Not like I walk around with oil. Though, I wonder, does that mean you have some? Would you admit it even if you did?”

“I don't,” Meng Yao mutters indignantly, mouth still half-obscured by the ground and now Wen Xu's intruding hand. He clearly doesn't want to accept them, the second's worth of reluctance feeling more like minutes with the hammer of Xichen's pulse in his ears. But then Meng Yao opens his mouth, turning his head slightly to receive the digits further.

Superficially, Xichen understands why. He may have never indulged, but he is not unaware. If this is to happen, no matter the wrongness of it, he would rather Meng Yao survive it with as little blood as possible. Not that saliva will stave off rawness for long. He winces at the mere thought of it, even while he averts his gaze from the sight of Wen Xu's probing fingers bunched in Meng Yao's mouth. 

“Good, you know what's best for you.”

When he finally pulls from Meng Yao's mouth, threads of saliva follow. Meng Yao’s expression is aptly sour, teeth gritted as he shoves his head back into his arms. His voice is somewhat stifled as he murmurs from there, “And _you_ know what's best for you. Won't feel so great dry.”

He's clearly embarrassed by it, yet cannot curb his tongue. Good. Let him have this fight. 

Wen Xu's features contort, and he quite abruptly shoves a finger in. He follows up with a second nearly immediately. Each merciless shove drives Meng Yao into the flesh his teeth are clamped around; biting so hard his skin is turning visibly red.

Xichen pushes against the hook holding him prisoner, ignoring the shrieking pain from his sore joints – and not just from hanging, but from Wen Ruohan's attention days before. He wishes again that he could reach his Core. That he had the strength and opportunity to protect Meng Yao from this. He is such a useless creature. 

He hates with slow venom, seeping through his mind in a way he's unsure he will ever truly cleanse – he's not made to feel this sort of wrath, and it pollutes from the inside out. But for Meng Yao's sake, for his brother and his allies, he hopes only that he is graced the chance to let it spill upon those who deserve it.

Despite his earlier threat, Wen Xu spits on his hand a couple more times as he preps Meng Yao. Xichen does not look closely, staring forward with unseeing eyes.

“It's a shame that I cannot touch you yet, Lan Xichen,” Wen Xu muses as his rhythmless fingers work Meng Yao open, “I'd much rather feel inside you than someone so soiled. My father has been waiting to crack you open. Maybe after this it will finally be time.”

“He is not soiled,” Xichen snaps, not wanting to play into the threat. Nonetheless, it feels as though his guts turn to water. It sends him back to Wen Ruohan’s proposition during his celebration banquet – when Xichen had been forced to admit he is at the Wen’s utter mercy in all things.

If Wen Ruohan truly wants that from Xichen, if he is just waiting for the right moment, then there will be nothing he can do to stop him. Just as there is nothing he can do to stop Wen Xu now. If it is to happen anyways, a festering part of Xichen wishes he could take this torment now. Anything to get Wen Xu’s hands off Meng Yao. He can’t imagine what it’s like, he doesn’t want to, but he also can’t stand to be helpless while Meng Yao suffers.

“Just like the young Nie,” Wen Xu continues, unaware of Xichen's mental dives, “The moment Nie Mingjue yapped too loud, we were free of any limits. I don't think Sect Leader Nie believed his eyes when we threw his brother to him after. We're not entirely cruel as to always separate the two, you know...”

Xichen grinds his teeth, trying very hard not to visualize what Wen Xu is saying. He can't be speaking the truth about Nie Huaisang; why bother? But then Xichen recalls previous comments from each and every one of his torturers, not to mention the scene before him. It is obvious that physical and emotional suffering has no bounds for the Wen and their vassals. They understand the intricacies of agony. How certain punishments do not end at merely the flesh. 

He thinks of Xiao Xingchen, once a pillar of dignity, now leashed like an animal at Xue Yang's side. Left bare and bruised for all to see; the evidence of what his _master_ does to him marked beyond any doubt.

Yes, why wouldn't Wen Ruohan set his sycophants on his prisoners in every way that will linger? Particularly if they are seen as spares, as unfortunately Xichen knows Nie Huaisang is viewed as. Did Meng Yao not also say he is doing his best to ensure Nie Huaisang does not become Wen Xu’s _personal_ slave? Before, Xichen did not understand the implications, but now…

“I'm sorry,” Meng Yao utters with a single hiss of air, the effort pure commiseration. He must know how hard this is to hear, and despite what’s happening to him, it clearly hurts Meng Yao to see Xichen ache with the truth. The fact that Meng Yao is risking Wen Xu hearing his affection is lost on Xichen; he can only process so much.

What he does register is that it confirms Wen Xu is not lying. Xichen’s best friend's little brother has been prey to the same horror that Meng Yao is right now. And just like Nie Mingjue, he is powerless to help.

Xichen finds he loses some of his footing, both mentally and physically. His arms stretch in a way that pulls a low cry from his chest. Withal, he feels numb from it, the agony in his mind far worse than his body. 

Wen Xu's teeth gleam in a predator grin, “So, Zewu-Jun, when my father realizes you need a reminder, what do you think he will let me to do to you? Maybe... throw you on your back so I can see your handsome face break? Or toss you on your hands and knees like your _friend_ here, take you like the unruly dog you are? Treachery has its rewards, after all. For me anyways.”

His laughter rankles. Xichen swallows against the lump of cold reality, but does not feed Wen Xu with a response. Rather, he focuses on Meng Yao, borrowing from his brother's code of unyielding silence. Without an offering to play with, Wen Xu turns on Meng Yao – and Xichen feels regret nip at his dangling heels.

“Maybe I'll let you watch. It'd be a nice change, someone else getting fucked instead of you?” Wen Xu mocks as he removes his fingers and shifts his hips to line up against Meng Yao. The man shakes his head, shoving his forehead into his arms seemingly to avoid answering.

The lack of response draws down Wen Xu's smile. He attempts to tug a reaction from him with a harsh jut of his hips. Nothing, though Xichen can see Meng Yao's nails cram down farther on the skin of his forearms.

Wen Xu growls, but then all the aggression floats away as he stutters his hips with a contented sigh. He locks gazes with Xichen again, and though he shouldn't humor him, he lets himself be trapped.

“It was silly of me, earlier, to think you would touch a filthy used hole like him. You're a Lan, and he's...” he hums in consideration, reaching for Meng Yao's neck. 

His hand is so large in comparison that his palm covers down to Meng Yao's spine, fingers creeping up into the messy disarray of his hair. Wen Xu hauls him away from the soft cushion of his arm and slams him into the floor. 

Pinching his fingers, Wen Xu pushes with enough force to draw the tiniest of sounds from Meng Yao, “Well, just look at him. Too used to being fucked to make noise without incentive.” 

Xichen bristles, the refute that comes naturally not exactly witty but heartfelt, “ _You're_ the filthy one. Not him.”

Wen Xu takes it in stride with an indulgent smirk, “How would you know, Lan Xichen? You've never even fucked. You've no idea what someone looks like when they've screamed themselves hoarse, or when their hole leaks with come. You don't know what _filthy_ is. But I can show you. What better example than this slut?”

Xichen feels sick in so many ways he can scarcely gauge them; but the thought of Wen Xu smearing Meng Yao's body all the further makes a frigid line of panic drill down to his impotent core. What's worse is he _doesn't_ know. He has barely masturbated, and almost every time he felt guilty. He has no tangible idea about any of this. 

“Filth is not skin deep,” Xichen bites out.

Wen Xu tilts his head, “Spoken like a true virgin.”

Xichen blinks, not expecting that. 

“I can tell you what it feels like, if you'd like,” Wen Xu pauses both his words and hips to run a hand from Meng Yao's neck up his back, ushering his hair to the sides so he can grip skin, “Paint you a pretty picture. Maybe you already know what his mouth feels like – are there rules against that?”

Wen Xu knows full well there is. Xichen can tell he’s saying this just to work his way to some supposedly clever insult. 

“If there aren't, he would have had you by now, I'm sure. Eager little puppy that he is. So has he taken you into his practiced mouth, Zewu-Jun?”

“No,” Meng Yao growls without letting a second pass, voice muffled by the floor but gnawing with urgency, “You know he is above such things. Leave him be!”

His intention is admirable, but Xichen wishes he wouldn't frame it that way. Sex is not a lowly thing to be above. It is a sacred choice – or _should_ be.

Wen Xu clicks his tongue, “Ah ah ah, look at your face, Lan Xichen! So distraught. Is it because you _would_ touch him? Perhaps I was wrong earlier. Does Lan Xichen like sloppy seconds? Or is it thirds. Tenths? Who knows!”

Wen Xu laughs while Xichen sputters, offended by the treatment of Meng Yao as always. 

“It's true he's tighter than I thought he would be, what with him being my father's favorite,” Wen Xu pulls out to spit on his hand before pushing back in. A mangled pant from Meng Yao is the only vocal indication he gives. The rest is all in the tense lines of his body. 

“Wen Ruohan has a tendency to wear out his toys, you see. But Meng Yao is still squeezing around me. You'd like it, I think.”

“Shut up!” Meng Yao hisses.

Wen Xu braces both hands on Meng Yao's small shoulder blades, the stretch of his fingers dwarfing the jutting bone as he adjusts his angle and drives in deeper. A stifled curse is tugged out of Meng Yao's throat, as well as a huff of air that's sharp enough to be a whimper. Wen Xu still seems disappointed by the response.

He leans down enough for his breath to puff against Meng Yao's ear, “Are you holding in your voice for Zewu-Jun's sake?”

The clench of Meng Yao's fingers on either side of his head is telltale. His nails turn to needles he drives into the floor, twitching with the weight of inaction. Even Xichen can tell that Meng Yao wants very much to say something, but Wen Xu is right. He's holding himself back. 

Wen Xu has seated himself entirely before he seizes Meng Yao by his hair. He guides him back so far that Meng Yao's hands end up on his own thighs, exposed and half-enabling without meaning to. He is also forced to settle awkwardly on Wen Xu’s legs. 

Xichen pulls his eyes respectfully to the side, not wanting to stare where Wen Xu surely wants him to look. In the position before, he could avert his gaze from the source of Meng Yao's pain, but this is far more humiliating of a position.

Unfortunately, the glimpse he catches without meaning to is already seared into his memory. Meng Yao's chest and stomach bruised from Wen Xu's kicks, remnant burns and scars from experiences Xichen cannot even guess at. His flaccid cock on display.

The sounds of kissing flicker into the air. Xichen's face screws up, the mere thought of Wen Xu violating Meng Yao like that on top of everything else scrambling his stomach. He doesn't intend to look, but he does. Wen Xu is kissing up Meng Yao's neck. Slowly almost lovingly, strictly to make him uncomfortable. And not just him, seeing as Wen Xu is looking in Xichen's direction.

When he knows Xichen is paying attention, he adds sporadic nips and licks. There's a dare in Wen Xu's gaze – like he wants Xichen to look away just so he can do something worse to reclaim his attention. So Xichen doesn't, though he refuses to look down. Even when Meng Yao trembles and shuts his eyes, the jerk of his body making it obvious that Wen Xu has touched him.

When his lips reach Meng Yao's ear, he takes the lobe between his lips and sucks before he bites down hard.

“Don't hold back, Meng Yao. I want you to scream,” Wen Xu demands with more kisses and a twist of his hand, “To let us all know how much you're enjoying this.”

Neither of them expect it when Meng Yao laughs. His shoulders shake with the force of it, face split by a determined sort of mania. A beat later, his eyes harden with an unexpected clarity. Wen Xu can only see Meng Yao's profile, the nuance of the expression lost on him. Xichen holds his breath, mind going blank.

“I know you do,” Meng Yao states, eyes slanting wholly to the side so he can best see Wen Xu, “You want me to cry. Beg. Say this is the most painful thing that's ever happened to me. It would be a lie.”

His brow furrows, lips twitching in revulsion, “Yes, this hurts, but when you feel me twitch or you so proudly make me cry out, that's the lack of oil. I'm used to your father. Your little dick is but a blade of grass.”

The vulgarity is so icy it makes Xichen shudder. Words are still Meng Yao’s weapon; and it works rather well. Wen Xu looks stunned, the reminder he is _not_ his father hitting home. He’s inferior no matter the position he has Meng Yao in.

Meng Yao taunts further, “And if you heard more of my voice, this would be over much quicker, wouldn't it? You like to think you’re important when you hurt someone. I know you too, Wen-gongzi.”

Meng Yao smiles, if merely for a second, and it sends something uncomfortable to sink in Xichen's chest, “But I won't. I won't give you the satisfaction.”

Wen Xu is so taken aback that he halts while he registers the words. Xichen is proud, and at the same time he is scared for Meng Yao. For the man he's become through all of this. Still, Meng Yao is strong. Stronger than he has to be, at least in this situation, and he's doing it for himself. For Xichen. He's keeping the piece of himself that Wen Xu is trying to steal. 

“Won't you?” Wen Xu asks slowly. He makes an abrupt decision, letting Meng Yao go so he has no choice but to fall on his palms. Fingers glide up to press hard against a scar, then another, and another.

“Trying to pretend you have pride… You don't want Lan Xichen to think less of you, do you? Precious. He doesn't even know the worst of it, does he? What you've done. And I'm not talking about on your back.”

It seems to be a play on significance, seeing as Wen Xu pinches a particularly risen scar. It's as though there's something underneath the skin, since Wen Xu can get his finger around it enough to pull upward, “Will this loosen your tongue?”

“Don’t you dare,” Meng Yao blooms with rage, “You can't! He won't stand for it.”

Wen Xu's fingers crush harder, deeper. Xichen swears he's going to pull a hunk of skin off Meng Yao's back.

“No, he won't,” Wen Xu agrees, “He's going to beat me black and blue. And I'm still going to do it.”

Meng Yao squirms his shoulders so it's harder for Wen Xu to get a grip, earlier bravado scattering fast, “You don't have the right!”

Xichen isn't sure what is about to happen, but Meng Yao's concern is contagious. 

“Oh yes, yes, yes,” Wen Xu mutters with a self-indulgent chuckle. He grabs Meng Yao's shoulders and flips him around so he is forced to look up, easily combating his flailing limbs. 

Wen Xu's continued commentary swallows up the wet gulp of air Meng Yao makes at the abruptness, “What will Lan Xichen think, I wonder? You've hidden from him the one thing the Lan's abhor... You foul boy.”

Even if Xichen cannot stop his presence from being part of this unjustified torture, he can at least defend his mind.

“What you or Wen Ruohan do to him is no mark of evil,” he says, so full of faith that even to himself the words are a tad too saccharine. Nonetheless, he means it. 

Wen Xu stops moving all of a sudden, staring at Xichen like he just said something remarkable. Meng Yao, too, tries to tip his head back to see though he's wholly unable. Predictably Wen Xu laughs, but the sound is quite different than any that has come before. Far too sincere for Xichen to associate with the Wen heir.

“Oh, you've got him convinced you're a helpless, pure thing!” Wen Xu mocks, soberly looking down at Meng Yao, “You truly are a snake.”

Wen Xu leans over to tug his discarded robe closer. At the same time, Meng Yao squirms backwards. He uses his foot to kick at Wen Xu who is occupied with his robe. For a while, Meng Yao manages to get away. He twists around to his front, hands pawing at the ground to gain purchase. But it's not long before Wen Xu drags him by his ankle, turning him to his back once more.

Fitting himself between Meng Yao's thighs, and presumably back inside, Wen Xu's left hand splays across Meng Yao's middle to keep him down while the other spins a dagger above them. Xichen's brain doesn't catch up with his eyes right away. Meng Yao reacts first.

“No, no, no,” Meng Yao babbles, “Please! Wen Xu, don't do this. I'll... I'll do what you want, just don't!”

“Your promises truly are like water,” Wen Xu sneers, “Thin and fleeting.”

Xichen's pitches forward, joints stretching painfully as Wen Xu lifts the knife. His own pleas are trapped in his feckless mouth while Meng Yao continues to beg. Xichen's shout escapes only when Meng Yao's voice pitches into a garble as the dagger slides through flesh and muscle.

“ _Meng Yao_!” 

The force of Xichen’s cry turns his throat instantly dry, raspy heaves dragged out as he stares with eyes so wide they ache. 

Meng Yao's shaking hand is coiled over Wen Xu's, which is still wrapped around the hilt. The blade is not fully buried in his stomach, but it's a near thing. Wen Xu seems to be slowly pushing down with every passing second, moaning obscenely.

“No, what are you doing?!” Xichen blurts without even thinking about the stupidity of his words. Nausea roils through him so fast he very nearly loses himself. He shoves further at the hook holding him back, causing his shoulders to pop. Xichen scarcely even notes it, too focused on the spill of blood over Meng Yao's waist and onto the floor.

“Oh,” Wen Xu coos, “So this is what cracked Jade looks like. Lan Xichen, I've seen you dizzy from bloodloss and sallow from rage, but nothing like this. Magnificent.”

Xichen doesn't even register the ridicule, ears filtering it out like white noise. He pulls from the deluge of scarlet to Meng Yao's face. He immediately wishes he hadn't. Meng Yao's skin seems stretched across screaming bone, eyes so dark they appear more void than iris. 

Seemingly realizing Xichen is not going to play, Wen Xu looks down at Meng Yao, “Do you want me to describe his broken face more thoroughly? Since you can't see, being on your back, where you belong. Mewling about a little cut. It's not even that bad!”

Wen Xu edges the knife down more. Meng Yao chokes. Xichen protests, though what he says he can't even be sure.

“Okay now it's a little worse,” Wen Xu huffs almost sweetly, “But you can heal it, can't you?”

Heal... Xichen doesn't understand. But Meng Yao seems to. 

Abruptly the hand around Wen Xu's grips tightens, as though Meng Yao is attempting to hold him in place, “No, keep it in!”

Keep it in? Xichen blinks, wet eyelashes sticking to his cheek. Comprehension is far away, but horror folds over him like a fever.

“What? This?” Wen Xu laughs, rolling his hips, “Or this?”

He starts to pull the dagger out. 

Meng Yao spasms, “NO! Don’t, there's nothing to stop it.”

Xichen's ability to process any of this halts with a sickening spin of his vision. His mind might as well be magma, simmering and thickened beyond understanding.

When the dagger is fully tugged out, Meng Yao curls upward. His hands cup the wound, blood staining his fingers while his tongue seems to lose track, “No, no.”

It's not just blood trickling out of his small hand. There's black smoke, rising in wisps. The same sort of eerie smog that drips from Wei Wuxian's skin when he wields Chenqing. The same vapor that surges from Wen Ruohan's palms.

Xichen doesn't believe his eyes at first.

“A-Yao?” he asks, bewildered.

“I didn't want you to find out like this,” Meng Yao whimpers, lilt suddenly crisp as porcelain and just as precarious, “I'm so sorry.”

His whole body jerks, and it takes Xichen a shameful amount of time to realize Wen Xu is the cause. He's rutting in like nothing has changed; like Meng Yao isn't bleeding crimson and black. 

“Demons literally _seeping_ from his insides!” Wen Xu exclaims with such virulent joy, “And you thought him innocent!”

His laughter is an expected miasma to Xichen's ears at this point, and yet the sound strikes him like he's heard it for the first time. He shrinks back, shoulders convulsing from the treatment. 

“My father's experiment. The opposite of Wen Ning. A living, _breathing_ weapon,” Wen Xu gives a particularly brutal thrust. At the same time he grabs Meng Yao's wrists so he cannot hold onto his wound. Instead they are pinned to the ground next to his hips, forcing him to bend forward just enough that it must pinch his back. 

Obsidian ether continues to leak out, and now Xichen can see it with no barrier. The smoke is as alive as it is when Wei Wuxian calls upon it. The insides spark with glimmers of red, just like the refuse from the Yin Metal. It swirls around before settling down on the wound, as though pressing the blood back in. More vapors squeeze in from every side, guiding the skin to re-knit.

“This is why my father's not bored of him yet,” Wen Xu pants, “He can be brought to the brink again and _again_...”

Wen Xu releases one of Meng Yao's wrists only to search for his knife. Xichen shakes his head, hollow sounds of despair rushing out of parted lips.

“No more, Wen Xu!” Meng Yao pleads even as Wen Xu finds his mark, shoving the blade into the meat of his shoulder.

Meng Yao gasps, and finally Xichen looks at his face once more. He looks beyond destroyed. Mouth cracked in a permanent, hopeless shriek. Eyes as dark as the smoke that pours out of him – the whites gone, replaced by ink. Unlike before, Xichen recognizes it for what it is instead of some trick of the light.

Eyes like Wen Ning's, before Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji called him back to awareness.

“Bled. _Stuck_. Fucked and filled,” Wen Xu emphasizes by plucking the knife back out and letting it drop with a clang, “And never too far gone to be put back together.”

He smothers his hand over-top, sluicing with the blood. He wrenches back with a hiss of shock as the smoke gathers to heal. It must sting him...

Wen Xu seems merely amused though. He draws one of Meng Yao's knees all the way back to his chest as he returns to thrusting, lilt imperious and crazed, “You see his true nature now! What do you think of him, Lan Xichen?!”


	10. Resentful Energy for the Resentful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Xichen learns Meng Yao's secret.
> 
> Warnings: Still contains less graphic violence and rape/non-con

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since Chapter 9 is skippable, I had to summarize important dialogue and such for this chapter. So for those of you who read Chapter 9, you will be re-reading a few things but it's formatted very differently. 
> 
> This chapter is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine. If you catch anything, don't hesitate to let me know!

Captivity itself is a nightmare. But this, being restrained and forced to watch something so brutally cruel, is something else entirely. Xichen cannot possibly understand what it feels like for Meng Yao – the agony of his flesh and mind, nor his fury – but Xichen knows his own fury. His own agony in helplessness.

It is nothing but a candle in comparison, but he nonetheless smolders as Wen Xu shove Meng Yao down. As he takes and takes, and _gives nothing back_.

It is one thing to have an idea of how Meng Yao must be treated by Wen Ruohan, but quite another to see it for himself – though of course Wen Xu is not Wen Ruohan. Wen Xu is acting out of spite, not merely desire. He is playing pretend that he is as powerful as his father.

He also seems to know something Xichen does not. Since taking Meng Yao’s robes, Wen Xu has been picking at the exposed scars and burns mottled all over Meng Yao’s chest and collarbone. He pinches them, tugging upward until it is blatant that there is _something underneath_.

“What will Lan Xichen think, I wonder?” Wen Xu teases about whatever it is Xichen does not know, “You've hidden from him the one thing the Lan's abhor... You foul boy.”

Even if Xichen cannot stop his presence from being part of this unjustified torture, he can at least defend his mind.

“What you or Wen Ruohan do to him is no mark of evil,” he says, so full of faith that even to himself the words are a tad too saccharine. Nonetheless, he means it. 

Wen Xu stares like he just said something remarkable. Meng Yao, too, tries to tip his head back to see though he's wholly unable since he is on his back. Predictably Wen Xu laughs, but the sound is quite different than any that has come before. Far too sincere for Xichen to associate with the Wen heir.

“Oh, you've got him convinced you're a helpless, pure thing!” Wen Xu mocks, soberly looking down at Meng Yao, “You truly are a snake.”

And then, in one terrifying moment, the situation escalates so quickly Xichen can scarcely process what he’s witnessing. Wen Xu has brandished a dagger the size of his forearm. He waves the blade around before plunging it downward.

“ _Meng Yao_!” 

The force of Xichen’s cry turns his throat instantly dry, raspy heaves dragged out as he stares with eyes so wide they ache. It’s as though his shout does not die either, only changes shape as Wen Xu taunts while black smoke flows like fog from the wound.

Not just blood. But _smoke _. Coming out of Meng Yao.__

__It is same sort of eerie smog that drips from Wei Wuxian's skin when he wields Chenqing. The same vapor that surges from Wen Ruohan's palms._ _

__“A-Yao?” Xichen asks quietly, bewildered._ _

__“I didn't want you to find out like this,” Meng Yao whimpers, lilt crisp as porcelain and just as precarious, “I'm so sorry.”_ _

__When Xichen glances up, Meng Yao’s eyes are so dark they appear more void than iris._ _

__Wen Xu laughs, “Demons literally _seeping_ from his insides! And you thought him innocent!”_ _

__His laughter is an expected miasma to Xichen's ears at this point, and yet the sound strikes him like he's heard it for the first time. He shrinks back, shoulders convulsing from the treatment._ _

__“My father's experiment,” Wen Xu continues despite Xichen’s wish for him to cease, “The opposite of Wen Ning. A living, _breathing_ weapon.”_ _

__As he speaks, he pushes at the vapor with the palm of his hand only to wrench back with a hiss of shock. It must sting him..._ _

__Xichen at least tries to make sense of what he hears and sees. The opposite of Wen Ning, demons resting inside. Those demons could only be borne of two sources._ _

__He takes in the scars peppering Meng Yao’s skin with suspicion. If he's right, that under Meng Yao's skin is pieces of the Stygian Tiger Seal or worse, the Yin Metal, then Wen Ruohan put them there in the first place. As Wen Xu said, Meng Yao is his father's _experiment_. _ _

__It must be Wen Ruohan’s doing._ _

__Obsidian ether continues to leak out. It is as alive as it is when Wei Wuxian calls upon it. It sparks with glimmers of red just like the refuse from the Yin Metal. Swirling around before settling down on the wound, as though pressing the blood back in. More vapors squeeze in from every side, guiding the skin to re-knit._ _

__When Xichen looks up at Meng Yao’s wrecked face, his skin seems stretched across screaming bone. The whites of his eyes are gone, replaced by ink. Xichen recognizes it for what it is instead of some trick of the light._ _

__Eyes like Wen Ning's, before Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji called him back to awareness._ _

__“You see his true nature now!" Wen Xu sneers, "What do you think of him, Lan Xichen?!”_ _

__Meng Yao shuts his blackened eyes, turning away with a sob. His free arm drops over his mouth, teeth biting the same raw spot he had worn down earlier. The action proves he really is cognizant, unlike how Wen Ning was when his gaze was this dark._ _

__Meng Yao is still _himself_ , hiding his eyes and voice out of apologetic indignity. Not wanting Xichen to see what he's become; he must think as a Lan, Xichen thinks him evil._ _

__“His true nature?” Xichen's voice is too soft for this situation, but not for the flood of fondness burning his chest with rage, “I see nothing I did not already know. He is a survivor, with a strength loathsome people like you can only dream of.”_ _

__Meng Yao's eyes snap open, color still indiscernibly oily but blinking out a pour of oh so human tears._ _

__Wen Xu is taken aback, but he still presses, “You would not say that if you could see what he can do. He's nothing but a blood stained ghoul. A necromancer. A killer!”_ _

__“And who made him that way?” Xichen's voice steady._ _

__Had he seen demonic energy leeching out of Meng Yao before his imprisonment in this very room – before the Wen's forced his family and his allies into a corner, shackled them like animals, and then belittled them for snapping back – he might have thought Meng Yao corrupt. At the very least touched by evil._ _

__But he has seen so much pain. Felt so much fear. Meng Yao has been an anchor for him throughout, and Xichen will not take him for a monster._ _

__Not getting his way, Wen Xu growls like the beast he paints Meng Yao as. His violence picks up a notch, going for Meng Yao's throat as if to kiss, bite, or both. He surely wants Meng Yao to beg or cry. But he doesn't._ _

__Rather, Meng Yao looks up with bared teeth, “This is your fault. _You did this_.”_ _

__It's the answer Wen Xu didn't give to Xichen's question. But it also feels deeper than that. Like an assignment of guilt for what's to come. Meng Yao curls tighter only to unfurl the energy flocking to the surface of his skin. It pulses outward with a singular goal._ _

__To get Wen Xu out of him. Off of him. And it works; all _too_ well. _ _

__The black smoke gathers under Wen Xu and propels him back so efficiently he hits the nearby wall. The smack of his head is so audibly wet that Xichen wonders if he's going to wake up. He had better, or Wen Ruohan will have their heads. Not that he won't as it is..._ _

__The shroud that surrounds Meng Yao looks akin to a thousand crow's wings, and it is not getting smaller. Instead, there seems to be so many that Xichen can scarcely see through the slather. But he can _hear_ Meng Yao, the man lost in his thoughts._ _

__“I should have just let him think he won. Wen Ruohan is going to be so angry. What if he's dead?!” Meng Yao escalates to a pitch of terror, “They always are when I'm through with them. Oh, I'm sorry Lan Xichen. I didn’t want you to find out like this. I wanted to be able to tell you myself. Control it, control it...”_ _

__The last portion is a personal mantra that doesn't seem to be working. The swathe of black gets thicker, arcs shooting out and into the walls only to jump to other parts of the room. Like Meng Yao is losing control. Or perhaps the so-called demons are tired of lying in wait and long to run free._ _

__“A-Yao!” Xichen tries to be heard through the disorder, “Tell me how I can help.”_ _

__“You can't,” Meng Yao's composure is quickly degrading, “There's nothing to make it go back.”_ _

__Xichen doesn't understand, which is not surprising seeing as he really doesn't understand anything that's happened. But he can at least tell that Meng Yao is without direction, and that the black energy is running on reflex. Particularly as it continues to disperse, to try and escape the room or perhaps do whatever it must to protect its maker._ _

__He thinks that must be true as one shoots toward him, slamming into his chest with such force he feels blood crack out of his veins. He makes a rather pitiful sound, one that Meng Yao reacts to strongly._ _

__“No! Xichen, I don't mean to hurt you, I swear,” he urges as he turns, the whole cyclone shifting with him. A hand shoots out, pearly in contrast before the dark whirls consume the appendage as though it's a rowdy child stepping away from the safety of its mother._ _

__Xichen huffs against the bruising pulse of his chest, “I know you don't. But you have to stop... Whatever these are, they're a part of you, aren't they? So call them back.”_ _

__It seems reasonable but he's not sure if he's hitting the mark in the least._ _

__“I’m _trying_. Usually they are forced to rest – I'm only half their master. Wen Ruohan has the Metals.”_ _

__So this _does_ have to do with the Metals. _ _

__Another shuddering smolder of raw energy clips Xichen's face. His very bones throb. But more than that, he's abruptly very angry._ _

__Xichen's jaw clicks, “You are not beholden to Wen Ruohan! You are your own person, Meng Yao. I _know_ you! You're not a toy, you're not a tool, no matter what they say. You're better than this. Now _control it_ like I know you can!”_ _

__The declaration seems to carry the weight of trust abounding in Xichen's spirit. Meng Yao draws in a breath that seems also suck in the energy around him._ _

__“Xichen, after everything you've seen you still?” He lets the question both end and trail off with perfect meaning, and a second later his voice is firm and no longer hovering on a precipice, “I'm _not_ his. I don't want to be. You're right. This is mine now. It's mine!”_ _

__It takes countless seconds, or perhaps minutes for Meng Yao to become the conductor of the ghostly dance of obsidian rather than the other way around. He gathers the energy around him first, except for a few strays that leap away, and tightens them like a coil. Pressed close to his skin, Meng Yao wears the energy like the clothing that was torn from him._ _

__“You're stronger than they think you are, Meng Yao,” Xichen reiterates what support he can, “You prove that every day.”_ _

__“I know,” he thinks he hears Meng Yao whisper to himself, “I’ll prove it to them yet.”_ _

__Gradually, Meng Yao's skin is revealed as the energy slips back inside. Xichen cannot help but let his gaze drip over each section of flesh – not with judgment, but with a mind to remember that Meng Yao has been suffering. That he's been forced through more than Xichen could have ever guessed._ _

__Eventually, the energy vanishes. At Meng Yao’s stomach and shoulder are bleary looking tufts of livid flesh, remnants of Wen Xu's brutality. The demonic energy clearly saved him from bleeding out, and Xichen cannot help but be thankful. Even with all that entails._ _

__Meng Yao doesn't get up right away. He grabs his robe from where Wen Xu threw it first. Xichen looks away in order to give him privacy, and it's only then that he realizes how much agony is shooting through his own body. His shoulder is certainly out of its socket, and it hurts to breathe from where he was struck in the chest._ _

__“Zewu-Jun, thank you,” Meng Yao remarks softly as he approaches. He still looks wretched, with remnant smudges of makeup smeared on his eyes and cheeks, blood at his lips. But his eyes are back to the brown Xichen knows so well._ _

__“Please, call me Xichen; like you were,” he corrects kindly because it feels desperately important, only to sputter, “I am glad you're... alive.”_ _

__There are so many other words that would not be so apt and yet, even _alive_ isn’t sufficient. But it is, perhaps, the most accurate. Meng Yao should be bleeding out, and that’s something Xichen has yet to still process entirely. For now, he is merely grateful Wen Xu is no longer looming over Meng Yao._ _

__“I am so sorry, A-Yao. If I could have helped you, or taken some of your pain…”_ _

__Meng Yao tsks as he reaches up for the rope keeping Xichen bound, “Then you would be in the same situation as I, and that is what I have been trying to avoid.”_ _

__Same situation. Right. What Xichen saw is not exactly a rare occurrence for Meng Yao, though the ferocity hopefully is. That does not make it _better_ , but it is a reminder that he has some sort of ability to compartmentalize. So long as he can manage it more properly once they are free – they _will_ be free; all of this can’t be for nothing. Or will this ruin Meng Yao’s plans?_ _

__Xichen is momentarily distracted as Meng Yao gently lifts his wrists away from the hook. He hisses, letting Meng Yao lower him to his knees. There, he works on the bindings, not looking Xichen in the eye._ _

__“I let my temper get the best of me,” Meng Yao admits, perhaps also because he does not want Xichen to speak any further about shouldering his guilt or pain, “And I am going to pay for it. You might too. It is I who should be apologizing.”_ _

__“No,” Xichen says resolutely, with a shake of his sore neck, “It is only ever _them_ who are to blame.”_ _

__Meng Yao freezes for a moment. Xichen’s gaze flickers up then to linger on the slope of Meng Yao’s cheek, where those beloved dimples hide. When will there next be a reason for him to smile? At the moment it seems so impossible._ _

__When Xichen’s ankles and wrists are free, Meng Yao stretches his hand out but does not touch, “Your shoulder.”_ _

__Xichen nods with a huff, face perspiring from the pressure he's just now starting to truly feel, “It will need to be looked at, if Wen Ruohan lets it.”_ _

__Meng Yao scowls, but does not deny. They cannot guess what is going to happen now. Meng Yao glances at Wen Xu, still in a pile against the wall. His features contort and it’s clear he doesn’t dare go and check. He looks back at Xichen instead, so many layers of emotion written all over his face._ _

__There is so much left to be said burbling up like a font. Both of their mouths are open, longing to fill the space. But neither gets the chance._ _

__The smack of Wen Xu’s body against the wall let alone the sound of rippling energy could not go unnoticed for long. The stream of guards that filter in are not mere Qishan soldiers either. They are Wen Ruohan's personal disciples. Most attend to Wen Xu, while the rest separate Meng Yao and Xichen._ _

__Before Meng Yao is pushed out the door, Xichen tries to meet his gaze. He does not think Meng Yao will risk looking back, but it appears they both have the same thought in mind. It feels so finite, this blip’s worth of a glance, and Xichen hopes it’s merely the dread speaking._ _


	11. The Truth About Meng Yao's Core

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wen Ruohan tells Xichen all about his little ember and his relationship with the Yin metal. 
> 
> Warning: Graphic Violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine. If you catch anything, don't hesitate to let me know!

No doctor is sent to his room. Rather, there are two armed guards who stand inside with him, watching his every move. He does nothing that might incur their suspicion, simply sitting cross-legged to mediate his pain into manageable levels. Hours pass into what must be quite late at night, seeing as the guards look ever more tired though still alert enough to twitch when Xichen so much as budges. 

When he is finally called to Wen Ruohan, those same guards accompany him. They know full well about the faulty set of his shoulders, and they take it into careful account as they drag him forward. That is to say, the one closest yanks just right whenever he has the opportunity, and by the time Xichen is pushed down there are unconscious tears scathing down his cheek.

He ignores the pain as much as possible. It is an inconsequential thing in the face of Wen Ruohan's obvious displeasure. Xichen knows that where his attention lifts first is a test, and he makes sure to focus solely on Wen Ruohan. The man is ready to meet his gaze, staring down, calm as he always is. 

Xichen is his fellow Sect Leader in all but power, and many times he has felt that disparate gap. But in this moment he feels less than an insect. If Wen Ruohan's simmering eyes had flame on their own, he would be a melted mess of limb and bone already.

“I have a conundrum on my hands, Zewu-Jun. Not one I expected. Perhaps you can lend your wisdom.”

There is sarcasm packed into each calculated breath. Instead of moving toward him, Wen Ruohan passes to the side. Toward a patiently kneeling Meng Yao. At least now Xichen can look in his direction. The man is still wearing the same clothes Xichen saw on as well as off him. But the lines are skewed, rushed together all wrong. 

His hands are tight on his upper thighs as though he's been sitting there for quite some time. Whether that's true or not, his expression is stoic. There is a gush of blood on the left side of his nose. Pale lips chapped but stained red where his mouth meets, like the shine of an apple. He does not look towards Xichen, penitent face bowed.

“My only remaining son is awake, but cannot move more than his legs,” Wen Ruohan sighs, as though this is a minor frustration, “Injured by my pretty puppet here. Had he not overdone it, Wen Xu would have been punished for touching what's mine anyways, but it seems Meng Yao forgot his place.”

He reaches out, slapping Meng Yao's face in time with the nickname ‘pretty puppet’. The ire not quite overflowing in his voice shines there, the gesture playful were it not for the sheer force. 

Meng Yao ends up slipping to the side, one palm scrapping the rocky ground. He quickly pushes himself back up, hand returning to his thigh.

“If Wen Xu were dead, the punishment would be obvious,” Wen Ruohan walks around Meng Yao, one sharp nail grazing the base of his neck as he circles, “But he lives still, though he cannot yet fight.”

The hope is weighty, concealing an unspoken 'maybe never again'. Wen Ruohan has Wen Qing; if anyone can save Wen Xu's mobility it is her, if merely because her brother is also prisoner to the Sect Leader. And yet, Xichen is aware that it is also because her brother is in his grasp that she may not try as hard as she could. And she would be able to, without fear of death or loss of limb, considering Wen Ruohan's need of her. It is a tricky, convoluted relationship those two share.

“That leaves my finest fighter a choice between a walking corpse controlled best by another,” Wen Ruohan is in front of Meng Yao again. His nail digs under his chin, tilting his head up even farther, “And a live experiment always walking the brink of a second death.”

The walking corpse can only be Wen Ning, while the live experiment must refer to Meng Yao. It's a sick deja vu that rattles through Xichen; Wen Ruohan is dangling Xichen's ignorance as a weapon against them both. Same as Wen Xu did. Just like before, his heart clenches; what does Wen Ruohan mean, brink of a _second_ death?

Although Meng Yao has remained miraculously nonchalant so far there is a flicker of dread. One that Wen Ruohan eats up with a smile.

“Oh the choice is still clear. I know which of them has the greatest loyalty to me, and I know _why_ ,” Wen Ruohan says with a tap to Meng Yao's lips, “But he must still be punished. Don't you?”

“Yes, Sect Leader,” Meng Yao agrees obediently.

Xichen holds back a shudder, both to keep his shoulder still and also so Wen Ruohan doesn't see how Meng Yao's conditioning gets to him.

Talking to Xichen again, Wen Ruohan steals his attention, “It is common knowledge that the Yin Metal has adverse effects. But they can be mitigated. Beaten. I have proven that. But about a year ago, I wondered what would happen if the metal was not just used, but absorbed. Would it make one stronger? Weaker?”

Wen Ruohan's free hand reaches down to grab Meng Yao's wrist, using it to straighten his back, “It turns out, once triggered, even the tiniest piece wedged under one's skin is anathema. Each experiment held remarkable power until they died within hours. Or for the stronger ones, a couple days at most. But not my little ember.”

Arm yanked as high as it can go, Wen Ruohan dips forward to plant a deceptively tender kiss to Meng Yao's hand, smoothing his fingers over the spot before clenching down on his wrist. Xichen can see the aborted reflex to pull away, but Meng Yao is too well trained to do anything more than tremble. 

“Sliver after sliver I sewed into his skin. Each time, his flesh reknitted and his resilience only grew,” Wen Ruohan frees his wrist to give a low whistle.

Meng Yao reacts as though he can read what the other wants just from the frequency, using his liberated hand to loosen his robe and slip it over one slender shoulder. There, amidst a burn mark is a particularly notched scar.

Wen Ruohan very intentionally shakes his head. Meng Yao's adam's apple moves in a strained gulp due to the tip of his neck but he complies to the silent command. The rest of his robe drops away, pooling at his waist. Fortunately, no farther. 

His chest is well memorized in Xichen's thoughts in spite of the horrific reason why. It is only because of that patchwork memory that he notes fresh bruises. But still, he is most drawn to the tiny scars in parallel spots nestled in Meng Yao's collarbone. 

Now that Xichen knows what lies underneath, he assumes there is a pattern to their locations. This one is above a major vein. Just as the one on his wrist is above a vein. The energy must travel through his blood, to his core.

Xichen draws in a hissed breath. One that has Wen Ruohan glancing at him. At the same time, he tucks the metal under Meng Yao's skin between two fingers and pulls, “You have a question. Ask.”

Not just an observation. An order. Xichen raises his chin, “What about his Core?”

Wen Ruohan's whole face opens, like an artist being praised, and he turns back to Meng Yao, “What's happened to your core, my sweet? Tell him just the way you told me.”

At first Meng Yao seems confused. Fingers pull at the metal under his skin, tugging him up off his knees. That seems to enliven his memory. 

“It's poisoned,” the admission as emotionless as Meng Yao's eyes as he stares up at Wen Ruohan. Xichen expects him to continue and evidently so does Wen Ruohan. He squeezes his fingers all the tighter, admonishing. 

When Meng Yao finally looks at Xichen, he is no longer so empty. Rather, there's apprehension that has a life of its own. 

“The energy from the Yin Metal is too strong not to have consequences,” Meng Yao explains under clear duress, “I don’t know why I was able to filter it for so long, but eventually it caught up to me. I became sick. My core was all demonic energy, and I couldn’t function with it. I died.”

It is all said so casually that were they not looking at one another, Xichen would miss the nuance of what it truly is. A confession of all Meng Yao has been hiding from Xichen. 

When did this happen?! Before or after he started seeing Xichen? If it was after, then Xichen has failed him. 

“And then he came back,” Wen Ruohan completes for him, tone so pleased it's clear he didn't want to wait for Meng Yao to finish the tale, “Like the energy made a home in him, and didn't want to give him up.”

Meng Yao averts his gaze. Xichen is quite sure there's more to the story. He's hiding something else, but it's nothing Wen Ruohan notices or deems important.

“So there the energy stays,” Wen Ruohan finishes, letting go of Meng Yao's shoulder so he slams heavily to his knees, “Ever burning in his core and in his blood. Poison indeed, but essential now. My ember would die without it.”

The nickname makes perfect sense now, but that is not what Xichen focuses on. Instead, his chest bottoms out with the reality that Meng Yao died. That he by all rights should have _stayed dead_ but remains breathing thanks to the single phenomenon that extinguished his breath in the first place. There's so much here that Xichen wishes to dismantle, so many questions to ask.

But Wen Ruohan is already changing the subject, and unfortunately onto Xichen himself.

“Do you know, Lan Xichen, I discovered his weakness for you because he cried for you?” his finger roves over Meng Yao's skin. Specifically his mouth, where Wen Ruohan smears the blood that drips from his nose in an intimate curve like lipstick, “Ravaged by fever, he asked for clemency.”

Wen Ruohan's voice shifts into a jeer while still managing to sound superior, “'Zewu-Jun, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you.'”

Xichen bristles, jarring his shoulder. He closes his eyes tightly, telling himself it's because of the pain and not Wen Ruohan's mockery. Nor the idea of Meng Yao on his deathbed, lamenting about Xichen and not merely his own suffering.

“Once, he mistook Wen Qing for you – clasped her hand and said your name. Asked her to _hold him again_ ,” Wen Ruohan lets out a boisterous laugh.

Meng Yao winces, seemingly because Wen Ruohan's nail slips into his mouth and digs overtly into his cheek, but Xichen guesses it's also because of embarrassment. He has nothing to be embarrassed about though, not from Xichen. After all, he has held Meng Yao many times as well as vice versa, and wants to continue to do so. Everything he didn't know only serves to make the urge swell.

“How surprised I was!” Wen Ruohan truly sounds impressed now, “To think, the revered Zewu-Jun having dirtied his hands with a whore. What more, that said whore slipped into my bed as well - and was wielded by my hand! A spy!” 

Wen Ruohan crushes Meng Yao's face in his hand, pushing him back hard enough that he falls onto his back. He doesn't try to get up. Just lays there with the barest of terror etched into his face.

A lurch of unadulterated panic claims the rush of Xichen’s pulse. For a moment, he is convinced that Wen Ruohan is going to hurt Meng Yao beyond repair. He reminds himself that the man said that he was just going to reprimand. He still wants Meng Yao alive and functional, so this will not end in the most finite of punishments; not tonight. 

Wen Ruohan has a hand up, fingers curling with the rhythm of his explanation, “When Wen Qing said Meng Yao was unsalvageable, I was glad to avoid a knife to the back. But I wanted to know how long the blade was meant to be.”

Wen Ruohan gestures and Meng Yao is kneeling again. His body shakes, though not out of fear. He looks exhausted, and returning to that position is visibly wearing on his knees and back.

“I forced him to tell me what he wanted,” Wen Ruohan continues as he sprawls his hand across Meng Ya's throat, “What his plans were.”

He squeezes his fingers enough that Meng Yao's features scrunch with strain, “I pushed every defense he made of you, Lan Xichen. So sure you planted him here. But no... Your behavior even now confirms what I know of him. He craves power, he craves _you_ , but he is not a Gusu Lan spy.”

There is so much to unpack that Xichen's breath is robbed from him. Were it not for his shoulder, he would be slumped on his hands, staring into the ground like the weight of the sky were pressing onto his ribs. 

“Please, Sect Leader Wen,” Meng Yao begs, voice cracking. Despite the difficulty posed by Wen Ruohan's fingers, the learned meekness cuts through as no less genuine in his desire for mercy.

“Oh, do you not wish for him to know how you spilled your secrets to me?” Wen Ruohan uses his grip to lift Meng Yao so his toes dangle, “That you want the magnificent Lan Xichen so much he was your last prayer before you slipped away?”

No matter the sanctity being tarnished by dragging their unspoken intimacy out into the open, Xichen is not ashamed. Nor is he surprised that Meng Yao feels so strongly in return. Rather, an anchor of wistful touches and undeniable hope is reeled out, link by link, from the churning depths of his chest. 

Xichen has wanted to address this connection between them once outside of these circumstances. So he sunk it down deep, to ground him. To be called upon when things are right. 

Of course Wen Ruohan plucks out those good intentions with all the cruelty of the petty lord he is.

Wen Ruohan tilts Meng Yao’s head to the side, bringing him close enough for their lips to touch, “That you earned the right to see him by submitting?”

Everything in Xichen rears back at the sight, no matter how innocuous it is in the face of all that Xichen just saw hours prior as well as everything that must have passed between the two - the experiences Xichen tries not to let his imagination sketch in his most loathsome, lonely moments. 

The abstract thought of Wen Ruohan and Meng Yao is tolerable in part because it is distant. But this is the opposite of distant; this is harsh, biting cognizance. And so soon after Meng Yao was pushed over the edge of decency into a display of mad vengeance; a defense that brought this voyeuristic punishment down on his head.

It's too much. 

“So you let him visit me in my prison,” Xichen interrupts, too overcome to be concerned with how bold he's being, “Wen Xu was wrong. You knew.”

His gambit works; and all because Wen Ruohan is entertained by the strings he can continue to strum between the two of them – that much is evident in his curl of a smirk and the satisfied slope of his eyebrows. 

“Of course I knew,” Wen Ruohan sounds insulted, still not letting go of Meng Yao's throat, “As I have always said, loyalty is rewarded. And Meng Yao was deserving of a reward. Why I gave him one of the best in my treasury, well...”

Wen Ruohan trails off. Xichen stiffens at being called property, but he knows full well how Sect Leader Wen views them all.

He finally lets Meng Yao go, the man falling into an immediate heap. Wen Ruohan whistles once more, and even coughing for air Meng Yao takes the order to kneel again. 

He digs his fingers into Meng Yao’s braided hair bun while he speaks, “Perhaps I was swayed by how well things were going. My pet returned from the dead, Jin Guangshan swearing his allegiance, and Wei Wuxian finally making progress. So I promised him access to _you_.”

Xichen's face goes stony, the idea of being a bartering chip for yet another individual unbearable. Fortunately, that is not the biggest takeaway. Unless Wen Ruohan is intentionally tricking him, he found out about Meng Yao interest in Xichen after Jin Guangshan defected. Which would mean all the visits that came before are still unknown to him.

Hope revitalizes his faith in Meng Yao's ability to fool Wen Ruohan – there are clearly more threads here than Wen Ruohan is aware of. Of course, he could be wrong and Wen Ruohan is deliberately playing ignorant, but Xichen trusts Meng Yao.

A finger runs along Xichen’s cheek and tucks under his chin. He jolts, forced to look up at Wen Ruohan's abrupt presence. 

“And now that access is revoked. After all I have told you, tell me how best to punish his behavior?”

Another test. An easy one to pass.

“Me,” Xichen says with a reflexive lick to his dry lips. 

He does not miss how Wen Ruohan traces the tip of his tongue. Xichen looks away, his bones going brittle as he recalls the threat Wen Ruohan made on him what feels like years ago. And after what Wen Xu did and threatened, and what they've all done to so many cultivators... 

“Good boy,” Wen Ruohan dotes, the praise carving a chip from Xichen's conscience.

Wen Ruohan's fingers jab into Xichen's cheeks as he tugs him upward. His knees lift off the ground, hand automatically holding onto Wen Ruohan's arm to balance himself.

“I've been saving your face for something special. I think this calls for at least a taste, don't you think?”

Xichen’s stomach turns cold. All he can see are those crimson eyes so close, Wen Ruohan’s smirking lips drawing nearer. But then Xichen is tossed away, his back colliding harshly with the ground. Considering the insinuation about his face, he is grateful when he hears Wen Ruohan walking away.

“Get up. You know what to do.”

At first Xichen thinks Wen Ruohan must be talking to him, and when he's slow to move he expects a kick or some sort of mockery. But as he rises, he sees Meng Yao shakily climbing off his knees instead.

“Yes, Sect Leader Wen,” Meng Yao says, trying at compliant. But he fails. There's a tremor so overt that the chill in Xichen's stomach flocks upward to freeze his throat. He can scarcely even swallow. 

Meng Yao won't look him in the eye as he finally stands in front of him, flexing his hands as though preparing. He favors one side, legs clearly not accustomed to normal blood flow after being made to kowtow however long he has. 

When he lifts his hand, a flux of now familiar smoke gathers around it. Xichen's chest clenches, breath held tight in the cavern of his lungs. He can't know what to expect, and the unknown plays havoc.

“Close your eyes,” Meng Yao orders quietly. The tremor has vanished from his tone, replaced with a soft sort of sadness.

Despite the whisper, even aloft in his throne Wen Ruohan hears it. His growl is a rumble of blades, “Meng Yao.”

Meng Yao bows his head in acquiescence. It still gives Xichen time to do as he’s told. He closes his eyes just in time for Meng Yao to unleash the flurry of black circling his open palm. 

A coolness cascades against Xichen's face. At first it feels like nothing more than a breeze, only to split open with a burble of warmth that can only be explained by blood. He catches a gasp behind clenched teeth only for a sluice of agony to burst behind his left eyelid. He screams, falling onto his palms that rip on the stone floor. 

His whole face feels as though he's being pressed into an open flame, nerves raw and stinging. He is unsure when the smoke ceases its rounds, but he is on all fours, panting and doing his best to resist collapsing. He barely notices the mingle of salt and blood as tears join the mix. 

He thinks he hears Meng Yao speaking, but it could be just his imagination. The first clear voice in his head is unfortunately not Meng Yao's, it is Wen Ruohan. He is lifted up without being touched. Distantly Xichen acknowledges it must be the Yin Metal's power, but he finds he's just grateful it's not his hands. That is, until Wen Ruohan does touch him. 

He cups his chin before sinking a thumb into Xichen's cheek, nail separating already broken skin, “Beautiful, Lan Xichen. A spattered gem, cut to size.”

Wen Ruohan leans in then, mouth a wisp away from Xichen's. He recoils, not merely from pain. Fear ratchets up his rabbit-fast heart; what if Wen Ruohan steals his first kiss like this? If he pushes him backward and does what he threatened to have done at that banquet so long ago? What he does to Meng Yao?

“I wonder if he has stolen your sight,” the finger pushing into his cheek grazes upward, glossing over his aching eyelid. Xichen hisses, jerking his head back though he goes nowhere.

“If he has, I know just what games to play. I'll make you listen for the fall of bodies. Have you guess how many lives Meng Yao has taken.” 

_been forced to take_ Xichen’s mind immediately corrects.

“It will be a shame if you cannot see at all, considering what I am going to do to you next,” Wen Ruohan muses as he grazes his lips across Xichen’s, though it is gratefully _not_ a kiss, “But I will still be able to watch you crack as you lose your careful control.”

A treacherous sound leaks from Xichen, belying even his current lack of control and lending truth to Wen Ruohan’s teasing. But it sparks with resistance, and Xichen enjoys a moment of pride despite the fact that Wen Ruohan seems equally pleased if the eager heat sifting off him is anything to believe. 

“Tell me, do you return my little ember's desires? Be honest now.”

Xichen does not expect this turn, and he is quite glad he cannot see the layers of guilt assuredly building on Meng Yao's face. He gnashes his teeth against responding. There are spots of white going off behind his closed eyes.

“Of course you do not wish to tell me. You want your admission to be for him alone, is that right? That's sweet. See, I like to think you do. I keep it in mind when I have him on top of me, or laid out beneath me. I think about how I've corrupted something you can never purify.”

The words are intended to goad him. He should not be so swayed by such an obvious tactic; however, months in this place has worn him down, and everything that happened in the past few hours has become too big a monster to fend off. He is absolutely livid, and he has much to say.

Only then Wen Ruohan lets Xichen drop. Protest is forgotten as soon as his knees meet the ground. Every injury he has - his shoulders, his face, his spasming eyes – all flare into a self-contained inferno. It consumes him even as he hears Wen Ruohan walk away and the patter of feet as he is jerked back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Psst don't worry, Xichen will be okay <3


	12. Wen Ruohan's Last Banquet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wen Ruohan holds another banquet, only this one doesn't end in spoils for Qishan Wen.
> 
> Warnings: Graphic violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is unbeta'd so any mistakes are mine. If you catch anything, don't hesitate to let me know!

Ever since the beginning of this nightmare, Xichen has been worried about retaining his senses. His hands, his tongue, his eyes. In particular, the latter. Without his eyesight, he would lose the ability to read his brother's nuanced but plentiful emotions. 

Yes, he recalls that fear quite well as he hears Wen Qing's hiss of air at the sight of him, and the way she daintily wipes at the blood and viscera. Normally she is harsher, more focused. This has thrown her off.

However it is thanks to Wen Qing's fastidious hands and quick wit that Xichen does not lose both of his eyes. It is touch and go for a while, with Wen Qing delivering heavy doses of spiritual energy to each individual synapse. In the end, her efforts are rewarded with a full recovery of his right eye, and the loss of sight in his left. 

For a few days, he wears a bandage around both. During that time, he expects an imperious visit from Wen Ruohan but receives nothing. No news from anyone. He tries not to let his mind get the best of him, but his thoughts venture down the same unknown darkness as his current vision.

Lan Wangji must still be walking on thin ice with Wen Ruohan’s patience. And now he is angry with Meng Yao, and has plans for Xichen himself. And what of Nie Mingjue and his brother? His other allies? 

The temptation to get bogged down by the sting of defeat, by the memory of Meng Yao's degradation and his own helplessness, is so very potent. And he does not have Meng Yao to help comfort him through it. 

What helps compel him to stay on the lighter side of the shadows is the fact that Meng Yao is also alone now. Neither of them will have the solace they found in each other's company, and that is a reason not to give in. There is still hope.

So Xichen meditates and remembers what is still worth feeling gratitude for. He is alive. Meng Yao is alive. Lan Wangji must be – Wen Ruohan would not take his life without making a show of it. 

And though it is a shame he will need to retrain himself to see adeptly, Xichen is overjoyed to see _light_ again when he is finally given a patch to wear instead of a bandage. The light may sting, but that is delightful in its own way after days of murky black.

However, the patch comes with its own distaste. It is surely a product of Wen Ruohan's vanity and desire to make Xichen's punishment a statement. Cloud white material with stitched crimson suns. The white is brighter than his ribbon, outshining what makes him a Lan, highlighted by the Wen insignia. It is infuriating and humiliating, precisely as Wen Ruohan wants.

The very day he is given the patch, he is taken to the throne room. There must be no coincidence about it, since the room is full of his fellow prisoners and Wen Sect nobles. The ownership conveyed by the patch is well worth the sight of his brother; even if he has to turn his chin more than before.

The significance of the patch as well as the pattern whittles through Lan Wangji. The vibrancy of it reminds Xichen of all he might have never seen again. So he savors each and every tic in his brother's familiar features, the gust of color and passion that flickers in his kindle eyes. 

He is filled with a sudden rush of love for Lan Wangji, so very glad to _see_ him. But venom accompanies the blessing, since his brother is also worse for wear. His cheek is bruised, lips swollen, and certainly there are more marks hidden by his robe. 

It is a stark reminder of why he's seeing Lan Wangji here and now. They have all been brought together in front of Wen Ruohan once more. It has been quite some time since they were all present - Sect Leaders, their families, and the Wen Clan’s most important members. Wen Zhuliu guards the throne, with Wen Ning near him but clearly intended to keep the prisoners in line along with the undead soldiers.

Even Xue Yang is in attendance, with Xiao Xingchen next to him. The cultivator appears a bit more pristine than before, and there are no chains to hold him down. That is certainly not reassuring, since it means he has stopped fighting back in public. Although they are all in bad situations, none of them except Xiao Xingchen is forced to spend _all_ of their time with their captor.

Their seating arrangements are also not in the same order as the last time. Wei Wuxian is farther away than he usually is, and Xichen has taken Jiang Cheng's usual spot while the man takes his.

Sect Leader Jiang's gaze lingers markedly on his eye patch as well as the array of slices still healing all over his face. Xichen can only offer a stiff shade of a smile, assuring “I am alright. Now.”

Jiang Cheng’s expression remains firm, but there is a fire of concern as well as acceptance in his eyes. He feels for Xichen, that much is clear, and that alone is affirming. Xichen did not realize how much he needed the reminder that they all here care for one another even if there is nothing they can do in their positions. 

He takes the time to look around, seeing Nie Huaisang for the first time since Wen Xu’s comment. His heart aches anew, having no idea what sort of splinters must be sifting about in the younger Nie’s head. Or his brother’s for that matter. 

Xichen settles on Nie Mingjue, long enough to let the man's temper flare and settle into a steady burn. His oldest friend knows as well as he does that the longer they stay here, the greater the chance that they will lose _something_ more than their already precarious mental security. It is only a matter of time.

What Xichen wishes he could convey instead of loss is who helped protect him. Wen Qing, with her medicine. Meng Yao, who Nie Mingjue surely hates with a passion. And though it was his hand who damaged Xichen, he knows who better to blame.

 _'Close your eyes,'_ Meng Yao had warned.

Even when being punished, he took a risk to protect Xichen.

Now that he has checked on his fellow prisoners, he glances up and hopes Meng Yao is visible. He is next to Wen Ruohan's throne again, something that has not happened since Jin Guangshan's alliance with Wen Ruohan. Kneeling, robes a luminescent blue with hems of leather, one would think nothing off about him. But Xichen knows what to look for now.

He sees the slack in the middle of his torso, the strict set to his shoulders, all an attempt to conceal the pain underneath.

Xichen wonders what has happened to Meng Yao since their combined punishment. Certainly Wen Ruohan's anger has not faded. After all Wen Xu is still not here. Perhaps that is what this meeting is about...

After his usual greeting to the Sect members, Wen Ruohan turns to the nook of prisoners.

“It must be a comfort to you all, to see each other alive and mostly intact,” Wen Ruohan notes, glancing at the Twin Jades first and foremost, “This will be the last of my gifts to you. I have been too soft on you all. Too forgiving.”

A mounting fizzle of violence spatters across the air; Wen Ruohan's very tone bears no other end.

“I am not surprised that there are traitors in my midst, that was to be expected. But I did not believe it would be the one who benefited most from being obedient – the one who only betrayed me in the first place because he was too weak.”

Initially, Xichen's brain doesn't catch up to the words. But there is a clatter as Jin Guangshan spills a cup at his table just off from Wen Ruohan's left. The way Sect Leader Wen turns his head to face him cinches the accusation. 

“You should have known better than to use my seal, my _name_ , for your own gain, A-Shan.”

Where there is typically only rage or lethal humor coiled around every syllable, there is an unexpected sorrow to Wen Ruohan's voice. Not to mention the unprecedented use of familiarity with Jin Guangshan.

Sect Leader Wen must be unequivocally hurt by whatever Jin Guangshan has done to deserve being put on the spot like this.

“Wen Ruohan....” Jin Guangshan tries to say. But there’s something on the man's face that makes him suck in his breath instead. A writhing, intimate thing passes between the two, something that could _almost_ be called warm were the heat not so devastating. 

A second later, Wen Ruohan's face twists into a rigor of cold judgment and he flicks his fingers. Wen Zhuliu answers his call and drags Jin Guangshan from his pedestal. 

“I did not intend to fool you. It was not an attack. I promise, I would never!” Jin Guangshan’s voice is impossibly deep in his desperation. 

Wen Ruohan as good as rolls his eyes by looking away as Jin Guangshan is tugged out to the center of the room. His protest is interrupted by a different sort of plea. 

“Please, Sect Leader Wen. Allow me.”

Xichen is not the least bit surprised to see Meng Yao with a fist against his palm, arms circled in entreaty. His gaze is demure, but were he to look up, Xichen is sure he would see etched determination. After all, this is Jin Guangshan, and he is about to die. No one in this room has more of a stake in the man's comeuppance than Meng Yao.

Wen Ruohan considers it before laughing, glancing at Jin Guangshan, “There is no more fitting punishment than for you to be executed by the son you discarded. Do you not agree?”

Eyes darting between Wen Ruohan and Meng Yao, Jin Guangshan's obvious panic ratchets up like the cornered hare he has become. And Meng Yao is every bit the starving wolf; the second Wen Ruohan waves his hand with permission, a terrible beast awakens in Meng Yao's stalking expression. Like he's been waiting for this moment, and Xichen knows he _has_.

A spike of apprehension climbs up Xichen's throat. The power lurking under Meng Yao's skin is bloodthirsty and unpredictable, and it could so easily consume him. Like the metal has Wen Ruohan, and those around him. 

Xichen has faith in Meng Yao, but even the strongest of them have their darkest desires. And being permitted to wreak vengeance on Jin Guangshan is assuredly one of them. There is a glaze to Jin Guangshan's gaze that says he realizes that as well.

“Wen Ruohan,” the man begs only to be spoken over with barely an effort.

“Jin Guangshan, my old friend, I will give you one last favor. Your death will be unlike any other; the first public showing of my precious weapon. Go on now, Meng Yao. Don't hold back.”

Meng Yao is genuinely surprised for a beat. Then a smirk overtakes any glimmer of other emotion – the shift the gleam of fangs turned human.

“Thank you, Sect Leader,” he breathes, like he can scarcely believe his luck.

The very air around Meng Yao darkens. Wisps of oil-black creep up from his shoulders, scooting down his arm to gather in his hands. There are gasps from the watching crowd, not just the prisoners, but Wen disciples. Meng Yao must have been a well kept secret until now.

They must all think him like Wei Wuxian. Xichen may very well be the only one who knows the true root of his powers. He glances at his brother, who is staring with a nearly imperceptible twinge in his expression. Then Wei Wuxian, who is rather out of it; eyes glazed, attention numb. 

Everyone else is more indecipherable. Angry. Some a little scared. As they should be. Xichen wishes he could explain Meng Yao is on their side, but right now he's having a hard enough time reminding himself.

Jin Guangshan all but babbles for forgiveness and mercy. In response, Meng Yao can't seem to resist driving one last nail into his father's fragile ego, “To think, if you had just accepted me, I wouldn't be this powerful. But I am not going to thank you.”

He raises his hand. On his lips is a faint sneer, but the viciousness shines most in his inky stare.

The energy in Meng Yao's palm soars up and over to connect with Jin Guangshan’s neck. The effect is gradual; veins around his throat bulge, white spots like irritated capillaries start to appear. The choking noises though are quite immediate. At the same time, black mist crosses up and down his body. Alive, shaped much like the wings of a blackbird.

The smoke is not just for show either. It crushes the flesh it hovers over. Jin Guangshan convulses, so very slowly. The sounds of his wet gasps echo, reminiscent of Wen Ning's horrible demise. 

Xichen finds that he holds his breathe alongside Jin Guangshan. But his instincts kick in, unobstructed; and unlike Sect Leader Jin, Xichen's lungs draw breath even while his ears ring from the loss of oxygen. Focusing on breathing again serves its purpose, distancing himself at least a little from the fervor in Meng Yao's actions. 

When Jin Guangshan finally stops twitching, Meng Yao lowers his hand. The energy returns and the former Sect Leader's body plummets – directly onto the stairs that he has been moved over. The angle alone ensures the corpse drops one step, then another, but what is most disturbing is the way his body… _softens_ once it meets the ground. As though all the bones and organs have been cracked to small enough pieces that the flesh itself molds to the stairs.

Meng Yao smiles at the sight, drinking it in with overt appreciation. After he has had his fill, he turns, blue robe moving elegantly with him as he approaches Wen Ruohan. He lowers his head when he gets close enough to the throne, and there he stays until Wen Ruohan ushers him forward with wag of his finger. 

Seemingly knowing what the man wants, Meng Yao bows low enough that Wen Ruohan can stroke his hair. Like praising a dog.

“I will not be undermined,” Wen Ruohan looks around at all of them, repeating the lesson of the evening. Eyes on everyone but his servant.

And so it is his undoing.

A streak soars through the air, landing in Meng Yao's open palm. Xichen processes that it is the hilt of Baxia just a split second after there is a tacky squelch of a sound. It is simultaneous with a bitten off gasp.

Meng Yao reaches out with his other hand, one of his so-called demons drawing something out of Wen Ruohan's robe. That same vapor shoots off as Meng Yao shouts – “Wei Wuxian, now!”

The demonic cultivator jolts from the cloak of exhaustion he was wearing, suddenly alert as he snatches the item out of the air. Music pierces the air a few seconds later, and Xichen need not even turn his head to confirm the notes of Chenqing.

Wen Ruohan's puppeted dead answer with a roar. The sound of slicing energy joins it, scattering from Meng Yao's body in every direction. One intercepts a leaping Wen Zhuliu, blowing him haplessly backward.

It is only then Xichen looks around; the whorl of Meng Yao’s energy has overtaken the room along with the scratching cry of Wei Wuxian’s reclaimed army. None touch the Sect Leaders and their families. Rather, the black smoke attach themselves to anyone with red robes. Some make sure that their prey cannot fight while they are devoured by dead. Others yet drive the Wen to their own demise.

It is absolute, remarkable carnage. And it gives the prisoners a chance to be freed. Lan Wangji is first, liberated of his chains by Wen Ning. As soon as his brother can, he releases Xichen before going down the line. Wen Ning, for his part, goes after Wen Zhuliu.

Xichen climbs the stairs in Wen Ning’s wake, but his destination is the throne itself. 

What is laid before him has him speechless. Meng Yao with his grip steady on Baxia, the blade wedged in Wen Ruohan's neck – deep enough that a slight bump would sever his spine, but not enough to lop his head off. The angle, too, ensures that Meng Yao would be able to slice through as easy as running a sword through water even if he were thrown back.

It must be the strength of Wen Ruohan's connection to the Yin Metal that is allowing him to live in such a way. There is still so much they do not know about its power, beyond the near immortality and deft threshold for handling pain it provides to its user. Meng Yao appears to be using that to his advantage, offering a window into Wen Ruohan’s inevitable fate while there is no option for escape.

One shiver from either one of them, let alone a shove from Wen Ruohan were he to try and free himself, would end it– that much is clear from the way Wen Ruohan's hand climbs but stops short at clenching the evil-banishing metal plunged in his throat. 

Wen Ruohan's eyes are somehow far more vivid than usual, snapped wide in disbelief. Meng Yao is smiling again. At least to Xichen, the difference is stark from the scorn he had given Jin Guangshan. There is ravenous conviction here that did not exist moments prior, though the same contempt saturates his words.

“You really didn't expect this, did you? That your precious Yin Metal would stop listening to you and choose me instead. I can _feel_ you trying to use it. Oh, no no no, don't speak,” Meng Yao feigns concern, “You might jar my hand and then where would you be?”

Wen Ruohan's wrathful red gaze matches the crimson gliding down his neck and chest. He opens his mouth anyways, and Meng Yao shifts his hand just so the angle slides diagonally, not enough to do more than pinch. But even a vibration of sound, and that might change. Wen Ruohan’s jaw clicks shut with a meticulous gentleness.

So Wen Ruohan cannot speak in his final seconds; a fitting retribution. Though Xichen is struck by the notion that this is still _not enough_ , a sentiment he will need to examine later as much as it is righteous. Sect Leader Wen has done much to deserve an unclean death. 

And to be brought to this point by a person he used and killed only to use again…

Pride flushes heavy in Xichen’s veins.

Meng Yao’s brows twitch upward, condescending, “But you said it yourself. The metal made a home in me, and it does not wish to leave. It has grown tired of you. As have I.”

Meng Yao steps closer, elbow sticking out a bit awkwardly since he is striving not to move the weapon. It is then Xichen notices the spatter of blood on his cheek, bright on his light skin. The juxtaposition makes him out to be the dangerous creature he has become.

Xichen is not alone in watching Meng Yao now; Nie Mingjue is by his side, but also Nie Huaisang, who has a hand clutched in his brother’s sleeve. Perhaps holding him back from interrupting. It is necessary too, as Nie Mingjue has his hungry focus solely on Baxia.

Meng Yao’s intent gaze slips from Wen Ruohan to graze over them, not lingering, but the sharpness is a warning. Nie Mingjue uncoils just enough to not be a threat.

Appeased, Meng Yao seamlessly steers his attention back to Wen Ruohan, “You have _lost_ , Wen Ruohan. You will never touch me again. You will never touch Zewu-Jun. Or Wei Wuxian, or anyone for that matter.”

A prickling sensation crawls down Xichen’s spine, not expecting to be part of Meng Yao’s final words to Wen Ruohan. Withal there is a mania peaking out that conveys there is a _reason_ Meng Yao is making that clear. Xichen recalls Wen Xu’s taunts, and Wen Ruohan’s vows. Perhaps today was to be the day he fulfilled his promises.

The mere thought has Xichen looking away, processing. He feels the Nie brother’s attention, sure they understand all too well. He doesn’t let himself get embroiled for long, returning to Meng Yao so he, too, can share this moment.

“And I am not _your_ ember,” Meng Yao’s voice shakes, but not with weakness; rather, with months’ worth of placating and posturing coming to a hard-won end, “I never was. I burn for myself.”

Although Wen Ruohan cannot speak, there are words enough rife in his seething expression.

It is surprisingly quiet, the sound of Baxia gliding through what remains of sinew and bone. The background is far louder – screams of the doomed, and groan of the dead as they gnaw on Wen disciples. Xichen does not even hear the clunk of his head as it hits rock and rolls once right onto his face. For Wen Ruohan’s death to be engulfed by the downfall of his Clan is morbidly poetic.

Although Wen Ruohan’s body is slumped now, Meng Yao reaches for one more thing. Xichen sees the glimpse of metal, and he knows precisely what he has obtained. It is a matter to be brought up later though, since there are more important things to confront first. 

By the time Meng Yao turns to them, he is already reverently holding Baxia out. His head is bowed but his back unbent; apologizing while not groveling. 

“Chifeng-Zun, I know I did not give you a choice, but I hope you will be satisfied knowing that Baxia was the only weapon that could get through his protection.”

“How dare you!” Nie Mingjue steps closer, fingers ghosting overtop but not touching. He looks down and back up, teeth gritted and bare, “You told me I should wonder if Baxia has been tampered with, only to use it and offer it back?!”

Meng Yao’s expression falters, “Of course, your reservations are understandable. I have much to apologize to you for. But I swear, I weaved no magic over Baxia.”

Nie Mingjue is obviously about to question how he can possibly believe him when Nie Huaisang returns to his spot by his brother, “You can trust him. Can’t he, Lan Xichen?”

The younger Nie’s defense of Meng Yao is not the least bit surprising. After all, they both suffered from Wen Xu’s untoward attention, and Meng Yao tried to help stave the man off from Nie Huaisang.

Prepared to handle the full scale of his friend’s expectant stare, Xichen nods, mouth firm, “Yes. I trust Meng Yao with my life. _Our_ lives. You do not know everything, but Meng Yao has been on our side since the beginning.”

“I believe Zewu-Jun may be right about that,” Wei Wuxian says as he joins them, Lan Wangji and Jiang Cheng beside him, “Meng Yao had me fooled until yesterday, when he returned Chenqing to me. He said the Stygian Tiger Seal would be next and to wait for his order. A lot of past coincidences made more sense after that.”

As he mentions the seal, he lifts his hand up, the metal drifting from knuckle to knuckle like it had never been taken from him in the first place.

A shy voice adds, “I knew Yao-gongzi was not on Sect Leader Wen’s side even before… this.”

Wen Ning appears behind Wei Wuxian, dragging an unconscious Wen Zhuliu by the scruff of his robes. His meek tone is rather belied by the raw display of strength, though his ease at handling such a capable fighter makes it clear what he means by ‘this’. His new state of being. But what of the rest?

“What do you mean by that?” Xichen asks, though his mind is already jumping for clues. How could Wen Ning have known of Meng Yao’s true intentions?

Wen Ning looks up with innocent features so wide it’s obvious he didn’t think about the fact that they might ask for details. He looks at Wei Wuxian first and foremost, then Meng Yao and back again.

“It’s okay,” Meng Yao offers, “They will fill in the blanks soon enough.”

Wen Ning still seems too reserved to say it out loud, and it’s then Xichen understands.

“It was Wen Qing wasn’t it? That’s how you got past the guards outside my room – because they were also working with Wen Qing. She’s where you got the medicine you gave me.”

Wen Ning’s expression as well as the polite nod Meng Yao gives confirms his guess.

“Wen Qing?!” Nie Mingjue gnashes out, clearly not pleased with her being a Wen. But like all of them, his opinion on her cannot be quite so finite; after all, they have seen her at her lowest, punished for going against Wen Ruohan only to be chained much like they have been – with the promise of a second death for her brother if she breaks rank.

Which, it sounds like she managed to do it anyways…

“Where _is_ Madam Wen?” Nie Huaisang wonders out loud.

Wen Ning seems eager to respond to this at least, “She is taking the remains of our family outside the city. To Song Lan and his people. If things went astray, she wanted to make sure they were safe. She will also bring Song Lan and his fighters into the city to help.”

At the mention of Song Lan, Xichen glances around. No Xue Yang. No Xiao Xingchen. He scowls, fingers closing into fists. He catches Wei Wuxian’s eyes. If the flashing depths of them are to be believed, then he has made the same realization Xichen has. That Xue Yang escaped, and with Xiao Xingchen.

“Your family?” Nie Mingjue questions Wen Ning. His tone is not exactly accusatory but he doesn’t sound pleased either.

“Enough!” Wei Wuxian says, “We can discuss punishing the _right_ Wen’s when we are truly free to do so.”

“He’s right,” Jiang Cheng agrees, though there’s more there than just an acknowledgement of facts. He sounds as though he’s been long convinced, “And Wen Qing’s family name will not be held against her. Or Wen Ning. We have seen enough through their actions, haven’t we?”

“Under her supervision,” Xichen adds, “I imagine we all received more than excellent care. To the point that it is surprising we do not all have worse off injuries, is it not?”

Even his eye is better than what could have happened. What would have happened if anyone but Wen Qing had been treating him. 

After this collective show of support, Nie Mingjue seems appropriately swayed, but that does not stop his curiosity regarding Meng Yao. Justifiably so.

“You still have not explained how you used Baxia. You summoned _my_ saber. How?”

A somewhat troubled smile breaks Meng Yao’s steady control, “Ah. Chifeng-Zun, I think that would be better explained in private.”

“No,” Nie Mingjue retorts, ever the stubborn one, “Whatever you are hiding can be said to everyone.”

Meng Yao shifts his gaze between Nie Mingjue, his brother and the rest of them. He is clearly hesitant, and Xichen finds that he draws himself closer to the other before he even realizes it. Appreciation drifts like a blanket over Meng Yao’s form.

“The energy I am wielding, what you call resentful, saved my life,” he nods toward Wei Wuxian, “Like it saved Wei-gongzi as well.” 

He then glances around in a way that leads the rest of them to do so as well. The rampant smoke staining the air coalesces at Meng Yao’s command before bursting free again, rushing out of the liberated throne room. 

Wei Wuxian lifts Chenqing, sounding out a few demanding notes so his army takes its scourge outside as well; presumably to hunt down any remaining threats.

“At least in my case,” Meng Yao continues, “It is _part_ of me now. I do not think I will ever be able to extricate it. And there is a similar energy living in your saber.”

The use of the word ‘similar’ is assuredly diplomatic; Meng Yao could very well be certain it is the _same_ energy but he would never outright say it. Implying that the Nie saber houses resentful energy is shocking enough, though Nie Mingjue forced Meng Yao to say it in the first place.

Nie Mingjue is both taken aback and yet somehow not surprised at the same time. He’s more uncomfortable than anything. That strikes Xichen as odd, and he reminds himself to ask Nie Mingjue more about this later. He is not the only one. The look Nie Huaisang is aiming at his brother is a decidedly curious one.

“And because of that, you can control Baxia as well?” Nie Mingjue further inquires.

“Oh no. No one but you can _control_ Baxia, please rest assured. It is simply that once I started to wield this energy, Baxia called out to me. It wanted to be free, and so did I. I just had to touch Baxia to instigate the connection, which is why I had to come up with a way to get close enough.”

Meng Yao’s pursed expression flickers down Nie Mingjue’s face and throat, bringing all who were present back to that moment when Meng Yao stood triumphant over Sect Leader Nie.

“I apologize for my trespasses against you,” Meng Yao states with a circle of his hands, “Wen Ruohan knew you would speak up against Jin Guangshan, and he wanted to make an example of you. It didn’t take much to convince him that someone of my background would be best suited to humiliate you.”

Nie Mingjue grumbles in response, but Xichen knows full well that he means acceptance. Nonetheless, he doesn’t seem to be finished prodding.

“This energy of yours; how is it any different from Wen Ruohan’s?”

“It isn’t,” Meng Yao answers without skipping a beat, one brow lifted, “It is the same Yin Metal. But _I_ am not Wen Ruohan.”

Nie Mingjue grips Baxia all the tighter, eyeing Meng Yao like he’s searching for the weapon he mentioned. Xichen knows full well that it is within Meng Yao’s robes as well as his skin, but that is not something that is Nie Mingjue’s business.

Xichen finally steps forward, “We need not delve into this now. We should focus on getting out of this city.”

“The Yin Metal can be handled later,” Jiang Cheng gestures with his hand, impatient, “Right now, I want to be rid of the sight and stench of this place.”

His tone is ever the Sect Leader he has become, withal the wear and tear they have all faced. Xichen looks gratefully at him. Wei Wuxian whistles low to himself, apparently impressed with their interactions, but he is also the first to leave. Lan Wangji is quick to follow, but not before offering Xichen a nod.

He takes a moment to be thankful that his brother and Wei Wuxian are so close, and have been able to remain such. Before this disaster, it seemed that perhaps Wei Wuxian did not return the loyalty Lan Wangji so overtly gave – at least overtly to Xichen – but his concerns were for not. The mere way Wei Wuxian adjusts his stride the moment Lan Wangji catches up confirms that.

Xichen holds back from joining the rush to the exit, choosing instead to walk beside Meng Yao. The other accepts him in stride, but he does not look at Xichen. The snub might have hurt, did he not notice the presence Meng Yao’s beautiful dimples as he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! I hope y'all enjoyed this ride. Just one last chapter! I wanted to note here that there are a lot of things I left insinuated; for example, Meng Yao waited to betray Wen Ruohan largely because he needs the Yin Metal to live and it wasn't his to control yet.
> 
> If you have any questions about anything, just let me know! I tried to make this plot as steel-trap as Meng Yao would haha


	13. Hearts To Mend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qishan Wen has been defeated, and everyone gets their well deserved night of freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo!! This is the longest fic I have ever written, and may be the longest fic I ever DO write. I hope you have enjoyed!
> 
> This chapter is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine. Feel free to point them out if you find any!

It is their first night of freedom. They have moved outside of the Nightless City, given refuge by Song Lan and some of each Sect’s own disciples. The rumors are indeed true – Song Lan has been gathering the scattered remains of the Sect’s disciples; at least those who defied the edict of the Wen Sect. The attempt may have amounted to nothing were it not for the money and supplies Jin Zixuan has been providing, unbeknown by his father.

Were Jin Zixuan present and not instead retrieving Jiang Yanli to deliver her to Carp Tower, there may have been talk of arresting Meng Yao. But Sect Leader Jin did indeed turn his back on the Clans and side with Qishan. His death is not considered an assassination, but a casualty. 

At least, that is what is decided during the short, but unfortunately necessary meeting when they arrive at camp. However it is made clear by Nie Mingjue that the situation could change, and Meng Yao best not disappear. Meng Yao nods with an arc of his brow that makes it obvious he thought no differently. 

Despite Jin Zixuan’s influence, Song Lan’s forces are rather makeshift, just like the camp. Due to sparse resources they are asked to share tents. They glance between one another for but a second before Wei Wuxian announces his choice.

“I have grown used to sharing a space with Hanguang-Jun. He is ever so quiet, I almost forget he is there! I do not think I’m ready for your snores again, Jiang Cheng.”

And like the child he still is, in spite of everything, he sticks his tongue out at his brother.

Jiang Cheng makes an aborted move with his arm, though there is no heat in it, “As if I would want the task of waking you up in the morning!”

Something passes between the brothers then, a softness in understanding. Everyone else averts their gaze, since that is what the twin prides would want; all except for Wen Qing who watches the interaction with rife approval. Xichen for his part watches his brother. 

There is a faint blush to Lan Wangji’s ears, a phenomenon that only seems to happen around Wei Wuxian. He is also looking down, upper lip pinched in subtly apparent joy. If merely because of his brother’s reaction, Xichen has no intention of challenging the decision. As much as he wants to have a real discussion with his brother, whether through words or mutual company, he will not begrudge Lan Wangji precious time with Wei Wuxian. 

He and his brother must still return to Gusu, after all. There will be plenty of time to talk.

The bright side is it frees Xichen to make the choice his heart wishes for.

He does not make a formal declaration; he is not as daring as Wei Wuxian. Rather, he steps all the closer to Meng Yao, who is already next to him. Noticing the movement, inquiring brown eyes look up into his. He offers a smile, and then a nod, sure he has made himself clear. Meng Yao blinks, perhaps a sign that his mind stutters a bit, before he returns the gesture. 

Also without a word spoken, Wen Qing and Wen Ning fold Jiang Cheng into their corner. That is quite the odd development, though not unexpected after Jiang Cheng’s earlier defense of Wen Qing. Xichen finds he is rather intrigued to see how it will pan out.

The Nie Brothers are the only ones who stay within Sect lines; although, Nie Mingjue does head in Xichen’s direction as soon as everyone begins to disperse. The fierceness to his step makes it clear he means to dispute Xichen’s choice of tent. 

Where everyone else might see hatred of Meng Yao as his reason, Xichen knows the truth is far more complicated. Yes, he is concerned about Meng Yao – but more than that, he misses Xichen. And Xichen misses him. Were Meng Yao not here, there would be no doubt that Xichen would join the Nie brothers.

On top of that, Nie Mingjue is confused. Why would Xichen choose Meng Yao? What sort of manipulation is going on? And as in most things, Nie Mingjue’s reaction is to get angry.

“Xichen, where are you going?”

Even his gruffness brings a nostalgic smile to Xichen’s lips. One that swells into a brighter grin as Nie Mingjue darts down to look at said smile with an indignant huff.

“No need to be worried, Nie-xiong,” Xichen assures, “There is just much I haven’t been able to tell you yet.”

Nie Mingjue’s chin jerks back, hard features shifting to Meng Yao and back, “Then tell me.”

Nie Huiasang tugs on his brother’s arm, “Dage, you can ask questions later.”

Xichen nods his thanks to Nie Huaisang for helping, but he knows Nie Mingjue deserves more than promises of later.

“A-Yao is the one who saved me after the Cloud Recesses burned,” Xichen explains, knowing full well that is all he has to say for now. Comprehension filters like sunshine through Nie Mingjue’s minute expressions, while Nie Huaisang looks all too unaffected to not have already completed the puzzle.

Xichen glances at Meng Yao, ready to offer apologies if it seems as though the man did not want that to be revealed. He needn’t bother, since there is warm pride stretched across Meng Yao’s whole body.

“Oh,” Nie Mingjue blinks, looking at Meng Yao with renewed awareness. The wariness nevertheless remains, but it is a start.

Xichen bows, “We will speak further tomorrow then. Rest well.”

“It is good to see you both safe,” Meng Yao says with a bow, though he does bow a little deeper to Nie Huaisang.

They then make their way to their designated yellow tent. It is likely a Jin gift, due to the color, and Xichen wonders if it makes Meng Yao ruminate on what has come to pass between he and the Jin Sect. He killed his own father, although Jin Guangshan was not deserving of the title for Meng Yao. Even so, Xichen is rattled.

Meng Yao _asked_ to be the one to end Jin Guangshan’s life; that was not an order. It was a vicious indulgence. But still not one that would make Xichen turn away. 

There will be time to dismantle the situation, and to encourage Meng Yao to compromise with the Jin Sect on a punishment. Even during a war, there must be justice – but appropriate justice. 

And _later_. They have all earned peace for one night.

Drawing in a deep breath, fresh air delights Xichen’s nose with scents and clears his lungs of cobwebs. He looks up at the night sky for the first time in nearly a year. The moon is near full, and though Xichen has to turn his head in a way he is unused to in order to truly relish its luminescence, he is nothing but grateful.

Chirrups of nighttime animals are a constant chorus, and it is all so ethereal. A happy sigh floats freely from his lips and he hears Meng Yao hum in agreement.

They linger at the entrance of the tent, just looking around for a moment more before they go inside. There wait new robes, which they change into first. He takes a moment to brush a finger down his Lan ribbon. The white is nearly indiscernible, and it takes extra attention to polish it free. When Xichen is first able, he will ritualistically wash it. Then he and Lan Wangji will decide together whether the ribbons will be disposed of or worn for a few weeks in testimony of their tribulations and subsequent freedom.

After, Xichen goes to the wash bowl, relishing in the sensation of lukewarm water on his dirt-stained hands. Meng Yao follows up, though he takes a bit more time as he stares down. He also comfortably ends the silence.

“I told you I would have to win a second chance from Chifeng-Zun,” Meng Yao says, playful withal his seriousness, “Though having Nie Huaisang’s support will help with that.”

He is referring to the fact that Nie Mingjue has already brought up the destruction of the Yin Metal. With Xichen supporting him, Meng Yao gave the barest of reasons why that cannot be the first thing that is accomplished. The Yin Metal is the reason he is still alive. Wen Qing verified his condition, but refused to give details. For now, the motion has been put to rest, but Nie Mingjue is reasonably suspicious.

Xichen hums, “Not just Nie Huaisang. I will stand by your side until he understands.”

It is a simple statement, but Xichen cannot keep the weight out of it. He means he will stand by Meng Yao not just in this, but in _everything_. Their loyalty to one another has been paraded out by those unworthy of knowing too many times to be so foolish as to ignore it.

Meng Yao startles, eyes widening before being smoothed out by fondness.

“Just like you promised,” Meng Yao’s shoulders lift and fall, “I know.”

Xichen doesn’t want the smile Meng Yao gives to ever disappear, but perhaps he is expecting too much for the shadows in Meng Yao’s eyes to stay away for long. They return as he stares off toward the bed. 

“Chifeng-Zun is not wrong to be worried. There are wrongs I still want to right, and this energy provides the weapon. But it is not just a weapon, either.”

It is so much more, whatever it is. It keeps Meng Yao alive, and so it must be kept alive. Xichen wonders it if is the same for Wei Wuxian… His time in the Burial Mounds should have ended his life, but instead he emerged with demonic assistance. 

Wei Wuxian indeed uses resentful energy too, but he is not evil. He could go down that path yet, but Xichen is quite certain that Lan Wangji will be there to temper him if that starts to occur. And of course Jiang Cheng and Jiang Yanli.

In the same way, Xichen wants to be there for Meng Yao. But not just him. Meng Yao is not without allies to keep him steady. He has his mother, still safely tucked away in the country. Wen Qing and he appear to have an intriguing dynamic of mutual respect, and her brother considers Meng Yao a hero like the rest of them; a fact that Xichen can already tell tickles Meng Yao. Nie Huaisang has taken a shine to him as well.

As for the elder Nie, Xichen has a feeling that once he asks Nie Mingjue about the _similar energy_ within Baxia, Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao will have more in common than they know. 

“To us, the Yin Metal is an unknown beyond its destructive capabilities,” Xichen thinks out loud, “I admit, if the situation were different, I would want it destroyed as well. But that is not the case. This is unprecedented, and must be treated as such. However I do recall you saying I was the only one who could judge you fairly.”

A flicker passes over Meng Yao’s brow at the reference to the first time he had opened up about his struggles with Wen Ruohan. Back when Xichen thought Meng Yao’s troubles lay strictly with sleeping with Sect Leader Wen while convincing him of his sincerity. Now that Xichen knows the truth, he feels foolish for not having asked why Meng Yao was being used to _fight_.

At the time, Xichen had assumed it was for mere entertainment.

“I will help you learn more about the Yin Metal, and its presence in your core,” Xichen offers at the same time there is no real choice in the matter, “There may be a way for you to live without it. If there is not....”

Xichen steps closer, “I will not abandon you without reason.”

Meng Yao’s steady expression splits under the pressure of the vow. At the sight, Xichen reflexively hovers a hand over Meng Yao’s cheek.

“You should not promise such things,” Meng Yao insists, “You are a Sect Leader. And I…”

“Don’t,” Xichen speaks with such force he surprises even himself, “Stop belittling yourself.”

Meng Yao pauses, face blank, “I was not going to. I told you before, no one can take my pride. I know who I am, what I am capable of. But I must still carve my own way.”

The urgency in his next words is muted in everything but his eyes, “Xichen, I will not let myself be in anyone’s shadow. Not anymore. Not even yours.”

Xichen swallows any further denial, realizing he is not _listening_. He bows his head, starting to pull his hand away, “I apologize. I did not mean to imply…”

Fingers cup around his own, stopping him from pulling fully away. He looks back up into Meng Yao’s returned smile.

“You want to protect me, like I have protected you. I want that too.”

He lets the admission settle for what it is before his attention glides overtly to Xichen’s eye patch with humble regret, “But I also hurt you. Hurt others. Killed. I do not regret the lives I took. Wen Ruohan would have taken them if I had not. But what I did to you – I have much forgiveness to earn.”

Xichen cannot hamper the scowl that overtakes him at the notion that Meng Yao does not regret taking lives. There is a darkness to him that must been sown in his youth. One that has blossomed more and more with each hardship. The brothel. His father’s rejection. The Nightless City. Now being faced with the knowledge that he’s a pariah for reasons beyond his occupation. 

Former occupation.

It is no wonder Meng Yao wants to make his own way, with his own moral compass - the one handed to him by the life he has led.

Xichen curls his hand, pinky slipping over Meng Yao’s thumb to keep him tight, “And there is much I want to know, if you will share. I do not want you to be alone with what has happened. For some of it, you were _not_ alone.”

It is a gentle reminder, one he has said plenty of times before. Meng Yao needn’t suffer alone. But it is also a plea. Although he is not the one who was hurt, Xichen also cannot ignore what Wen Xu did. And the man is prisoner in this very camp, and thus free to wag his cowardly tongue. Though at least there is no chance he might escape.

“I also have forgiveness to earn,” Xichen adds quietly, “You were hurting for so long. You _died_ and I didn’t notice.”

“Oh, but you did,” Meng Yao amends, “When I returned, you were so happy to see me. It made so much of the agony worth it.”

Having to plow deep into his memories, Xichen recalls when Meng Yao had gone missing for what could have been weeks and he wouldn’t have known for sure.

“Ah,” as it clicks, “So that is what happened. And after that, our visits were no longer secret? But before?”

Meng Yao squeezes his hand, “He didn’t know. I had already made allies with Wen Qing, long before my rebirth.”

Does he truly think of it as such? His rebirth? But that is a question for later. Much more of this, and they will go down a path they may not be able to disentangle themselves from.

“Brilliant,” he praises first and foremost, “I hope you will tell me how it all came to be so I can compliment you appropriately. But, not tonight, I think.”

There is a bounce to Meng Yao’s shoulders at the acknowledgement. Xichen can’t wait to shower him with more if that’s the response he is to receive.

Xichen releases a purging breath, “I do not want our first night free of Qishan to be tainted by the past. This is our new future. At least for now, we are together. No cage, no chains. Just us.”

He lets his hand continue to rest in the other’s, mirroring the gesture by taking Meng Yao’s free hand in his own. He brings it to his lips, laying a soft kiss on two knuckles. The boldness trickling up is reminiscent of the night he offered his borrowed bed to Meng Yao. 

With that thought in mind, he guides Meng Yao over to the bed, “I want to be able to rest with you, if you feel comfortable enough. If you do not then I will let you sleep first. And there will be tea ready when you wake.”

“Rest,” Meng Yao scoffs at that. His eyes dart across Xichen’s face, clearly looking for something. Xichen hopes his expression freely offers what he seeks. Whatever it is Meng Yao sees, it makes his lip curl between his teeth in an endearing nip before he surges up on his tippy toes.

Xichen only knows he must be on his toes because Meng Yao uses Xichen’s hands as leverage to keep himself up, a sensory fact that momentarily overrides what is actually happening.

Lips tuck into his own, a thorough but no less chaste taste of a kiss before it’s gone.

“I’m sorry,” Meng Yao breathes, “I know you have your rules. I will not push any further, but I could not…”

“Ah,” Xichen blinks, mind piecing itself back together after being flung every which way. The first thing he notes is that Meng Yao didn’t finish his thought. He must be as scrambled as Xichen. The second thing he realizes is he very much wishes Meng Yao’s mouth was back on his.

“That was my first kiss.”

He must sound sad, as Meng Yao’s brows furrow. And he _is_ sad, but not for the reason Meng Yao clearly thinks.

“No, no, it is a good thing,” Xichen remedies, leaning down, “A great thing, actually. As long as you kiss me again.”

Meng Yao’s neck is tilted, and Xichen trails the slow swallow of his throat as he speaks, “Again? But your rules. And surely I am impure to Lan standards.”

“There is a difference between what is considered pure by my ancestors and what I have learned by experience,” Xichen lets go of Meng Yao’s right hand only to return to hovering over his cheek, “There will be much for me to contemplate once I have returned to Gusu, but until then, let me follow my heart.”

“Your heart,” Meng Yao repeats, the word lofted with wonder. Perhaps lost in realization, his head tips naturally into Xichen’s waiting hand. That’s all the permission he needs. Fingers nudging Meng Yao’s rounded chin, Xichen dips down.

He doesn’t know the first thing about kissing, but he understands the general idea. Still, he is so very thankful when Meng Yao takes the lead. He flattens his palm along Xichen’s cheek, finger sliding under the square of his strong jaw to guide him. The angle Meng Yao chooses is much more ideal, the instinct of it easy to follow. 

Mind blessedly blank, he understands immediately why this indulgence is so enticing. It’s encompassing, and at least for Xichen, requires his total concentration. It is nice to be so wholly focused on one person. On Meng Yao.

After a moment of bliss, Meng Yao separates them with a heavy breath and a wide grin. There is a veneer of contentedness about him, and Xichen wants only to keep making him feel like that. 

So rather than initiate anything further, he draws them both down to sit, then to lay. Once they are snugly facing one another, he slips his fingers up through the threads of Meng Yao’s hair to draw him to rest on his chest. Meng Yao wraps an arm around Xichen and relaxes in his grasp. 

They needn’t push things too far, too fast.

So Xichen holds Meng Yao, as he has done before. As Meng Yao has done for him. But now they are not hiding, and it makes all the difference.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: When Xichen falls asleep, he’s gonna be little spoon and sleep so very well :D
> 
> Thank you all so much for your support, I appreciate you!
> 
> When I first wrote this, I had a sequel in mind. It was going to be from Meng Yao's perspective and I had it all laid out. 
> 
> Wen Xu would get shanked in private by Meng Yao but he'd be all quiet about it... Then he would continue to cultivate his particular energy and seek out Xue Yang and Xiao Xingcheng alongside Song Lan. Eventually he'd join the Jin Sect, help Jin Zixuan run the sect and give him advice for courting Jiang Yanli. 
> 
> Using Jin resources, Meng Yao would help rebuild the Cloud Recesses ala canon, and of course visit Xichen whenever he can. He'd also see Wen Qing and Wei Wuxian in the Lotus Pier, and watch Jiang Cheng hide his blush with frustration whenever Wen Qing and Wen Ning are around. (The remaining Wen live in Lotus Pier. Why? Cuz Jiang Cheng is secretly a pushover and he wants the Wen siblings close by).
> 
> Oh and Meng Yao would visit Nie Huaisang, and Nie Mingjue would watch with disapproval that gradually grows to approval after he spends time with him and Xichen. 3zun anyone? And when the cultivator community demands the Yin Metal from Meng Yao, he has his boyfriends to help - not that it'll be easy, since it never is...
> 
> At the moment I have no plans to write the sequel, but, hey who knows!!


End file.
